Nihilism
by Hikou no Kokoro
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is the only fine arts teacher in World Academy, teaching both music and art, and directing theatre all by himself, so it's only natural to want help. But the new teacher isn't exactly cut out for the job. The man has only an education degree, flirts with all teachers and students, annoys Arthur to no end, and seems to be carrying extra... baggage. Gift!fic Mii-chan!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, Hikou no Kokoro here! It's been a long time since I added anything to my profile. This is a little fanfic for Mii-chan on her birthday. I hope she enjoys! And I hope you all enjoy, and stick around until the last chapter. This will be the first chaptered fanfiction that I have saw to the end, so that's a huge achievement.**

**This fanfic will be updated every week, typically on Saturday, but other days will be possible.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I simply own the AU plot. Additionally, I am not an art expert, and I don't know the experiences of the blind. Please take this fanfic as theoretical and speculative. Thank you.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Just because a man lacks the use of his eyes doesn't mean he lacks vision."  
—Stevie Wonder

Arthur Kirkland was excited. Ecstatic. And for good reason too. Today was when he finally got to meet the much anticipated new teacher—colleague—aide—assistant. Oh god, yes, finally! He had worked for the World Academy for two years now, and he was sick of being surrounded by the "older-than-dirt" teachers who lectured him more than their students. Romulus Vargas, his boss, told him that the new teacher was young, fresh out of college and green around the ears; that meant Arthur was no longer the youngest teacher in the school, and the old farts wouldn't continuously pick on him anymore and he could spend time with someone sympathetic to his situation.

But that wasn't the best part either. The newcomer was a _fine arts_ teacher.

The fine arts were a dying curriculum, overshadowed by the more "practical" and "progressive" subjects such as maths and sciences. More people went to sports, and with them, the majority of the funding. The number of prospective teachers and the percentage of them in art were dropping—plummeting—so at this point, there was almost nobody out there anymore.

Arthur Kirkland, though, was one of those who missed this "wave" of disinterest in art. Along with his degree in education, he got a bachelor's in fine arts, but he was only one of the few. For the two years he worked in the Academy, he had been the _only_ fine arts teacher. Originally, he was just a music teacher and band director, but when the previous art teacher left for bigger and better things, his fine arts degree threw him into the art program. Suddenly he found himself sitting behind paper and pencils and around students complaining about how they couldn't draw or paint.

That wasn't the case anymore! The new teacher finally signed the year contract and was fully prepared to take on the arts program and possibly help him with the drama club. Arthur no longer needed to worry about teaching the colour theory, which he himself didn't even know, or have to deal with showing off his questionable drawing skills. Sure, the music and art programs had melded together over the years so he and the other will be working together for the most part, and Arthur was fully aware that he might need to help the new teacher with all the ropes first, but in the long run, the investment would most definitely pay off. Arthur could see the years in the near future, when he could finally take a break and simply watch students draw without having to guide them himself.

When he reached the principal's office, where he was to meet the new faculty member, Arthur burst in, all smiles and hopes as his gaze shifted from Romulus, who stood by the door, to the new face.

His heart clenched painfully.

The man standing near the desk wore a pair of dark sunglasses, and he held a red-tipped cane.

"Hello. My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I'm the new art teacher," the man greeted, giving Arthur a dazzling smile and an outstretched hand.

But he wasn't facing the right direction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yo! Hikou no Kokoro back again! I missed last week's update, so I'll be posting up two chapters this week.**

**Special thanks to LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole for the review, fav, and alert! And special thanks to FiringShootingStar and Sabilandako for alert!  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I only own the AU plot.**** Additionally, I am not an art expert, and I don't know the experiences of the blind. Please take this fanfic as theoretical and speculative. Thank you.**

**Enjoy!**

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Nihilism

"They are ill discoverers that think there is no land, when they can see nothing but sea."  
—Francis Bacon

Arthur glanced at Romulus, his green eyes screaming questions at the older man. Why was a blind man going to teach art? Drawing and painting weren't for the visually impaired, who could barely understand the ascetics of beauty in the first place. Unfortunately, Romulus only shrugged and grinned.

Hesitantly, Arthur shifted himself and shook Francis' hand. Arthur didn't bother smiling or conceal the look of sheer confusion on his face, since Francis couldn't see it anyway. "It's a pleasure to meet you too," Arthur said, pausing briefly before continuing, "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, Arthur Kirkland—we're in the same department, correct? The music teacher? Although your voice seems a little rough and hoarse, I can see the appeal."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched slightly. His voice? Rough and hoarse? Did Francis just refer him to one of those phony song artists who smoked in order to sound "appealing"?

Arthur quickly said, "Excuse me for a second, Mr Bonnefoy," and tugged his hand away. However, Francis' hand didn't leave and Arthur had to carefully brush the strangely calloused fingers away. Instead of looking offended, Francis continued to smile, almost creeping Arthur out by the lack of awareness. Quickly, Arthur retreated, taking Romulus out of the room with him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, hiring somebody like him?" Arthur snapped in a hushed tone, leaning forward with a scowl on his face.

Romulus returned the action, but retained a small twinkle in his eyes even when his smile went flat. "What do you mean? Do you see anything wrong?"

"Of course I do!" Arthur threw his hands into the air, his hushed tone getting louder by the second. "Can't you? He's bloody _blind_! What sort of blind person can teach _visual_ art? I can see him teaching—I don't know—creative writing or music, but that's _my_ job, and he can't take them."

"I know, I know, calm down, Arthur." Romulus patted the air and glanced towards Francis to see if he could hear Arthur's rather offensive comments. Francis seemed to not have a clue, as he was patting the desk around and looking for a seat to sit in while waiting. Then Romulus looked back at Arthur. "Look, I know he's blind, and he isn't as adept at painting or sketching as the average artist. But since you and he will both be in the same department, I figured you can work together. He'll be your assistant in your classes; you'll be his assistant in his classes. You said you've always wanted someone to help you with the fine arts."

"But I want someone who can handle himself, without relying on me to do the menial tasks. If I'm spending my time with him, what will happen to my students?"

"Nothing. We won't be changing the schedule, and won't run the art and music classes simultaneously."

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. "Then there is no difference if he works here or not."

"Are you belittling the abilities of the blind? They're perfectly normal, competent individuals."

"No, no! I'm not! It's just…" Arthur looked at Francis. His hand pressed against his forehead as his eyebrows knitted together. "Then what are his credentials? Does he have an art degree?"

"No. But he's a certified teacher—got his education degree and everything."

Arthur scoffed. "Of course he does. He has to."

"Well, I've seen his drawings, and they're pretty good. Do you know how inspiring that'd be? A blind person drawing well; that's the epitome of showing students that obstacles shouldn't stop them."

"I don't care about how well _he_ draws or how romanticised he can be! I want to know how well he can _teach others_ to draw!"

"It's not like you're particularly proficient in teaching other people art theory either."

"I know, but that's not—"

Romulus grabbed Arthur's shoulders and stared straight into the green eyes. "Listen, Arthur, we need more fine arts teachers and more students interested in the curriculum, or else all the funding will disappear and your beloved classes will disappear."

Arthur scowled even deeper, brushing Romulus' hands off his shoulders. "Fine." Then he marches back into the office.

Francis perked up from his seat he found beside the principal's desk, his face lighting up immediately. "You're back! Are you done with your conversation?"

"Yeah." Arthur sighed, rubbing the side of his face. The year was definitely going to be terribly long. "Come with me. I'm going to show you the art room. School will start soon, and you need to be prepared for everything."

"Thank you." Francis stood up and followed closely behind Arthur out of the office and down the hallway, listening closely for Arthur's footstep. Eventually, he walked faster, tapping the ground with the stick quickly until the short hits sound like skidding, and reached out to hold onto Arthur's sleeve.

When Arthur looked back, Francis was still smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yo! Hikou no Kokoro here again! Sorry for another late update. Kept forgetting. But don't worry. Updates will be regular. I'll get in one of those weeks with two updates. Sometime.**

**Special thanks to Avengewholocked for subscribing and favouriting!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot. Additionally, I am no expert of blindness or teaching. Most things are all speculations, so do not use the information as a reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others."  
―Friedrich Nietzsche

The first day of school slowly rolled in. With all the hype only a few days in anticipation, the first day was quite anti-climactic. It was quite a bore, in actuality. Majority of the time was spent explaining the classroom rules and syllabi for the new and frightened students. Nothing was taught, like most first days, and nothing substantial was said except words of common sense.

Arthur wasn't the type to break such a tradition. After all the students filed into his classroom and took seats arranged into an arc, he began the class with his name, the general guidelines of the music room, and the lessons taught, like he always did. He tried his best to sound animated, as if everything was new to him, but even he wasn't oblivious to the bored looks on his students faces, especially those whom he knew before, like the band members.

At first, Francis sat behind Arthur quietly, his hands folded on his lap and his legs crossed over. He only stood up to speak when Arthur turned and introduced Francis as the new arts teacher, who was currently only assisting Arthur's music class. When he heard one of the girls noting to her companion how hot the new teacher was, Francis threw a _thank you_ and a compliment, and blew a kiss in her general direction. That didn't particularly bother Arthur at first.

Arthur would have liked if such a situation didn't change. But it did on the third period of the day. Francis lost his "prime and proper" posture for a more relaxed position, spreading his legs out and slouching in his chair. He started tapping his cane against the ground in an obscure beat, turning his head back and forth as if he were glancing around the room. Eventually, he scooted his chair to join the arc of students, leaning over with his arms folded across his chest, and spoke with the students, each one in turn.

"How are you doing today?"

"Good…?"

"Oh, that's good," Francis whispered, smiling. "Enjoyed your summer?"

Most of the time, the student would give him a thin smile, nod, and tell him, "Yeah." In that case, he would nod and move on. But occasionally, more outgoing students would have a full-blown conversation with him. One told him how she went to Disney World with her friends, another complained how she didn't want the vacation to end, and one of the boys began to rant about his summer adventures and escapades. Francis seemed rather intent on the conversation, and eventually the statements turned into the crude.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Bonnefoy?" Arthur snapped, starting onto his feet.

"Why, I'm conversing with the wonderful students here. They have some interesting stories to tell."

"You're interrupting my class."

"So? It's just an introductory class. It's not like you're saying anything interesting except some droning about rules. Even you must know that it gets boring."

Arthur couldn't believe that he was reprimanding a man only a few years younger than he was. Nevertheless, he continued, pointing out the door. "You're setting a terrible example for my students! Now get out!"

"But, _mon ami_, no need to be snappish! I'm just saying that you should do something except repeat yourself over and over again. Maybe start teaching something? This is the music theory class, right?"

Scowling, Arthur took his seat again. "Fine. Just—just—just move back here, Bonnefoy."

"Move back where?"

"Here—" Arthur stopped himself, slapping himself in the forehead. Then he waved the comment off. "Nevermind, nevermind. Just stay there."

"Okay." Francis didn't move, giving Arthur a smile.

Arthur turned, hoping that Francis would be quiet from then on and wouldn't act like an immature high schooler, and retrieved tomorrow's lesson about reading music. But just as he drew the staffs on the board, he could hear Francis lean over again and say, "Stick-up-his-butt seems moody, _d'accord_?"

"You have no idea. He's always like this."


	4. Chapter 4

**Yo! Hikou no Kokoro here! Hopefully, this will be the first chapter of the two chapters posted for this week, to make up for the week that I missed.**

**Special thanks The Gemini Phoenix and LemonySweet1127 for following this fic!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I am not an expert on blindness and teaching. Most if not all information on those subjects are theoretical speculations. Do not use as reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Surrealism is destructive,  
But it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision."  
—Salvador Dali

After Arthur's first class, words about the new teacher spread throughout the school like a wildfire. People talked about how Francis was good looking and how he was surprisingly chill compared to his prickly colleague Arthur. But the dominating subject was Francis' blindness. Everybody knew that Francis was a fine arts teacher, since that was how Arthur introduced him, but nobody knew what _type_. Some speculated that Francis was only Arthur's assistant. Others thought Francis originally intended to be a music teacher, and he turned into a mere second hand due to circumstance. The rest of the students just didn't bother to predict; they were just grateful that Francis wasn't in another department, such as P.E. But none of them realised that Francis was a visual arts teacher, and the "grand revealing" came as quite a shock.

Francis only taught two classes. They weren't much, but they were all he had since Arthur, who wasn't particularly dedicated to the visual arts, didn't advertise the class as much as he should have, so all the students only took one year of art class to fulfil the required credit. The baton was being passed to him; he had to leave a good taste in his students' mouths. Francis had no room to make mistakes; even with an incapacitating disadvantage, he needed to amaze.

Nevertheless Francis chose to step away from the tried and true.

He started off with roll call. Arthur offered to take over that part, but Francis refused and asked the students to say something instead of merely raising their hands. Arthur stepped back, hands held above his head as he allowed Francis to do whatever he wished if he believed it would do any good.

Arthur wished he hadn't though. Instead of explaining himself or how the class was run to the batch of mostly freshmen, Francis jumped into a lesson.

His voice that rang in the room, bouncing off of the mess of materials stacked on tables and cabinets. He spoke with a flurry of hands waving around. "Art is a history," he said. "It's like math and science; giants come before us, and we collectively, as a whole race, get progressively better, even if we ourselves aren't alive anymore."

He paced around the room, his hip bumping into the corners of the tables and feet kicking the legs of chairs. The area was tight; even the use of his cane didn't help his manoeuvrability. Nevertheless, he continued, as if there was nothing in his way. Arthur stood right to his feet, and tapped on Francis' shoulders to get his attention and to get him to stop bumping into things, but Francis didn't care.

"So first, I want to talk about great artists, and how their new techniques and styles revolutionised art into the way it is today. And by looking at the examples of these giants, we gain a sense of what's aesthetically pleasing and how the world works and is perceived, and most of all, develop a particular style that you'll perfect for the rest of your life. But don't worry. We won't only talk about artists, and I'm not expecting you to memorise anything and spit them back out at me. I'll spread that throughout the year, and at some point, we'll emulate some famous paintings on the ceiling tiles, instead of traditional testing."

Francis moved to the side of the classroom where posters of famous artists hung. A previous art teacher had put them up there years ago, and they always seemed gleam under the sun rays filtering through the windows on the other side of the room. During the time before school started, Arthur had shown where the posters were as part of the tour, and it seemed like Francis remembered where they were, even though he couldn't see them. Arthur thought everything was safe there. Francis could simply stand there to demonstrate.

"As we can see here, we have examples of works from Da Vinci, Picasso, Dali, Gogh, and Michelangelo." He pointed at the posters in order they were on the wall—Da Vinci, Dali, Gogh, Michelangelo, and Picasso. "Of course, this is a very, very limited spectrum. There are plenty of other famous artists around, and modern art has a certain flair that should also be celebrated, and they aren't all men either, but these are the posters we have at the moment, and I'll try to find new posters to hang up so we get to see a wider variety of what art can be. But in the meantime, this is all we have. If any of you want to suggest artists, we can create our posters about them."

Francis sidled along the wall. Luckily, he noticed the box in front of him with his cane, and he kicked it aside before he slipped and fell. Then he placed his hand on the Picasso poster. "Let's start off with Da Vinci."

Snickers filtered into the air. But Francis seemed to ignore them and continued talking. At the side-lines, Arthur became antsy. His eyebrow twitched, and his green eyes shifted from the students to Francis and back. It almost seemed like Francis had no shame. He was setting off a terrible example, and it was humiliating to even look at him. Arthur quietly slinked behind Francis and pushed Francis until he was touching the right poster.

Then Francis moved his hand, pointing at a batch of words and captions. "This is his famous of the Last Supper."

Arthur reached over Francis' shoulders and jerked Francis' hand down so it was pointing at the painting.

"Notice the perspective on the painting, and how all the corners of the walls lead to the centre, where Jesus is."

Francis moved his hand again, pointing at the painting of Mona Lisa. Arthur inwardly groaned, hanging his head and massaging his eyes with his fingers. The students started snicker even more and began whispering amongst each other. Arthur's nose turned a bright red.

He was never going to win.


	5. Chapter 5

**Yo! Hikou no Kokoro here again! I'm finally bringing around the promised second chapter update for the week. Now my debt is paid, I'm going to go on the normal schedule again. Once a week, around Saturday.**

**Special thanks to K-Ojousama and Argentum Tantibus for subscribing, special thanks to Argentum Tantibus for favouriting, and special thanks to somewhereinthebluesky, a guest reviewer who reviewed all the chapters so far. Thank you so much! I'm glad that you're enjoying Arthur's and Francis' interactions. There will be some cynical and legitimately offensive statements exchanged, but eventually, you'll understand as the story progresses and the characters develop.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I am not an expert on blindness and teaching; all information is from speculations and observations. Please do not use as reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"A cynical young person is almost the saddest sight to see, because it means that he or she has gone from knowing nothing to believing nothing."  
—Maya Angelou

Band was afterschool in Hetalia Academy. It was sort of pushed off to the side, taking a room under the basement where the acoustics weren't always the best. Arthur tried to get it to sound much like a stage, taking some of the limited fine arts funds in order to get boards that would filter the sound just right, but sometimes a little still would only get a little way. Ironically, Arthur was satisfied with the set up. It was cosy, and was isolated enough so nobody would bother rehearsals. The only problem with that was it was too isolated. People never knew how to get down to the band room unless they had been there before, or was following Arthur. And most of all, people sometimes never knew that the band existed. That didn't really help with the growth, but Arthur had been trying to combat that. He started a recruiting period starting from the first day of school. It was during these two weeks he and the previous band members would go around the school recruiting prospective band members, showing where the band was, making small demos, offering deals, and employing other persuasive methods. Of course, that cut off the weeks from practice time before the Christmas concert, the first concert of the year, but if it got new members to join, then it was a month well-spent.

Truthfully, Arthur couldn't wait for band rehearsals to start. He loved conducting the band, and listening to amateurs improve. This was what he lived for. He had wanted to be a music teacher just so he could conduct the school band.

But this year, he was a tad hesitant, almost unsure. He didn't know what was going to happen, especially with the new presence that sat behind him. Not watching, but listening, and completely aware, even if he didn't seem like it.

Francis had ear buds in his ears and an mp3 player in his hand. He listened to the songs Arthur had picked for the Christmas concert, while Arthur himself was guiding the overall band and introducing the pieces. Francis knew none of the songs by name, and as he listened to them, he could hear some snippets of classical Christmas choir tunes sprinkled in. The selection consisted of three songs, but Francis stopped the track list on the second then put the mp3 player away.

When Arthur sent the instrumentalists into sectionals to either get to know each other or to work on individual parts on their own, Francis spoke from his seat.

"Don't you think the song selection is a bit… off?"

"Off?" Arthur repeated, bewildered. He turned and took a seat in front of Francis. "What's 'off' about it?"

"Nobody recognises any of the pieces. Shouldn't we have something more familiar?"

Arthur sputtered. "Familiar? What, you think we should play something as infantile as 'Jingle Bells' or something? I'll have you know that the band has more talent than that!"

"No, no, _mon ami_, I didn't mean that. There are other pieces you can choose that are around the same skill level as the band. There are things like _Polar Express_. Silvestri wrote plenty of orchestral songs that people could recognise."

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You only say that because it was in a film. Everybody thinks that original soundtrack is 'comparable to the classical era,' but it's nothing except modern rendering of simplistic melodies smashed together."

"But they got awards."

"Which doesn't mean much when it's compared with other botched soundtracks."

"They aren't botched. They're just as good as all the songs you chose."

"Are you comparing them to the great works of the Romantic era?" Arthur snatched the mp3 player from Francis. "These are on a completely different level from _film soundtracks_. They can't even compare!"

"I disagree. They're the same level."

Arthur fumed, shooting onto his feet and pointing a finger. "Are you saying that these pieces are _botched_ and _underdeveloped_?"

"Sure."

That did it. Pointing out the door, Arthur demanded, "If you don't like any of the songs we're playing, then don't come to the rehearsals! Get out!"

"Oh, but _mon ami_—"

"Oh, stop this '_mon ami'_ crap! What are you, French?" Arthur paused, glaring down on Francis, who didn't move at all. Then he brushed Francis off and turned away. "Explains things. The French have terrible taste. After the Enlightenment, they only went downhill."

"But—"

"Didn't you hear what I said? Leave!"

Francis sighed, picking himself from the seat. "All right. Call me if you need me," he said, but Arthur didn't answer.

Then Francis left, his light tapping trailing behind him like the sounds of a muffled snare drum.


	6. Chapter 6

**Yo! Hikou no Kokoro back. Sixth chapter. **

**Special thanks to Super Serious Gal 3, ArisuKuroUsagi and .books for subscribing, and LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole and guest somewhereinthebluesky for reviewing! You are why I keep writing and posting.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. Information comes from observations and speculations. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"What we see depends mainly on what we look for."  
―John Lubbock

After the single band rehearsal had finished, Arthur slinked towards the art room, knowing that Francis would be in his classroom if he couldn't join the rest of the fine arts students in the band room. But when he pushed open the door, a dark, empty classroom greeted him. The tables were cleaned, and papers and supplies were put away crudely in their respective places. The two computers on the side seemed to be off. Even Francis' things were gone. Francis must have left the school earlier, maybe ten minutes ago so Arthur wouldn't have seen him go out. Arthur stepped in and turned on the lights. He saw a stack of papers beside Francis' computer.

Although nobody would know he entered, Arthur slunk into Francis' seat and shook the mouse. The computer flashed on. Francis must have forgotten to turn it off. For a split second, Arthur was glad that he had come in, as a computer left on would drain the electricity.

Quickly, Arthur closed out iTunes and Google searches of the Sistine Chapel. Then the window for the grade book showed up. He blinked. Francis must have been really forgetful; he knew he shouldn't leave the grade book up in case a sly student would come in and meddle with it. But Arthur reluctantly let it slide; it wasn't like there would be any grades in there anyway.

But there was. The first half of the students had gotten A's while the last half didn't. Francis must have been grading something. Figuring Francis wasn't going to look at the grade book anytime soon, he closed the program and turned off the computer. He looked at the papers on the side. The first page was a sketch of the façade of a building.

Arthur groaned and slammed his forehead on the keyboard. This was the little "practice" rough sketches Francis got the students to draw. Arthur had told Francis that he was going to look at them later to grade and critique. But no, apparently Francis didn't listen. What made him think that he could grade pencilled drawings?

Nevertheless, Arthur decided to look through the notes and grades. He didn't want to use Francis' computer, which had all the software to aid him, like screen radar, so he moved to his own computer that shared the gradebook with Francis' computer. Sighing, he took the first one off the pile, and opened the grades for that student. The sketch got an A, just like everybody else who was already graded. Underneath the grade was a critique, which would probably be printed out later to be given to the student.

"_It's absolutely stunning,"_ the critique said. _"I can see that you've worked hard on this sketch. However, you seemed to have pressed too hard at certain sections, and the lines become dark. That makes erasing harder when you wish to change the sketch, and when you trace over it for the final copy. Additionally, darker lines smudge more and get on your hands. Remember, this is a gesture sketch, not the final copy. When you make a sketch, you're not intending the final to be exactly like the rough. So draw a bit lighter, and don't worry too much if the fine details aren't pretty. Nevertheless, you've drawn with exquisite detail. You have a wonderful eye, and great potential. I can't wait to see when your skills are refined more. The sketch is beautiful, and you've earned the A."_

The attention to concreted and tangible suggestions almost shocked Arthur. How did Francis manage to "see" where the student needed work? Quickly, he put away the sketch, and looked at the other critiques. It was then that he realised the critiques were all along the same line. Of course, they were in different wordings, but their messages were all similar, although some of them didn't mention "pressing too hard" if the sketches' lines were light. Then Arthur looked through the graded papers. They seemed a tad darker in colour than the ones that weren't graded, as if the pages had brushed against tables and other papers, smudging the dark lines.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. Francis was too much of a stubborn fool. It seemed like Francis' main focus was about how the students treated the concept of "sketch," rather than details and techniques and perspectives, and if the lines were too hard (Francis must have been able to feel the powdery smoothness of the paper where the pencil dug too hard) he would tell the student to draw lighter.

With a flick of a few fingers, he deleted all the grades, and reviewed the sketches for himself, talking not about line darkness, but perspective and proportions. After all, Arthur had worked as an art teacher long enough to know the basics that Art I would need; he trusted himself to know what was aesthetically pleasing and what wasn't. He could do everything by himself.

There was no need to rely on somebody else.


	7. Chapter 7

**Special thanks to SnakeGirl1 and La Rose Enchainee for subscribing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia._ It rightfully belongs Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness, and all facts are based off of observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Stars and shadows ain't good to see by."  
―Mark Twain, _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_

Since the little spat in the band room, Francis didn't attend the rehearsals anymore. Additionally, Francis didn't seem to notice that Arthur was replacing the original critiques and grades with new ones. Francis didn't say a word, so Arthur figured that Francis was too blind to realise, or that he didn't care. The two continued like that—noticing each other, but generally not interacting. Francis would take over the classroom and direct the art students, but Arthur did everything else while still managing his own music curriculums. Although that didn't seem fair, Arthur was satisfied with the natural placement.

Months passed like that. Eventually, December crept up, and the Christmas Concert was being put on for the show.

Arthur's nerves started firing. He was always a bit nervous during the concerts. They weren't like practices, and he could never turn back if the players made mistakes. Additionally, the concerts were the best way to advertise the band. He couldn't mess up; the cues had to be clear, and he hoped that the months of practice paid off.

As Arthur put on his jacket before the start of the concert, Francis placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Break a leg," Francis said with a grin. He smiled back at Francis, but said nothing, so he didn't know if Francis knew if Arthur responded at all. Then Francis walked away to take a seat amongst the crowd.

Sweat trickled down Arthur's forehead. He called all 40 students of the band, with the furthest clarinettist leading the line as they practiced. Each one filed in professionally, as the band had practiced, holding their instruments uniformly. Then they sat down.

Small notes raced through Arthur's head as he walked onto the stage. There were a few problem areas that either didn't have enough time to be fixed or couldn't seem to be fixed. In the first song, the intonation was off for the first 20 measures prelude. He just hoped that tuning would keep that problem at bay. Then at measure 100, the tempo and key signature changed in the piece's greatest, climactic finale, but the students didn't always stay together. The second piece didn't have many problems except its rather "free" tempo that changed at the drop of the hat. He only hoped that the students would be able to keep up with the pace and the switches. The real challenge was the third piece. It was the hardest piece they were playing in the whole selection. There were tempo changes, key changes, difficult rhythms, multiple entrances, subtle exits, and strange dynamics. It may have been the students' favourite piece out of all the others, but the dedication didn't always combat the problem areas. Arthur could only hope that the reach piece wouldn't crash and burn. He aimed for "passable."

Jittery and almost dropping the baton, Arthur smiled, bowed, and introduced the band, as he had rehearsed. So far so good—he had practiced the introductions and explanations in front of a mirror and recorder. So far, this felt like the best execution. After the audience clapped, Arthur turned and began the first song.

The intonation was gorgeous. The brass sections weren't too loud, and the instable flutes sounded like little bells. Inwardly, Arthur celebrated as he turned the pages. He encountered a smaller problem section, one that he hadn't mentally noted, but the band executed it perfectly yet again. Yes, this was the best part of the concert, going through the pages and getting to the problem sections only to hear utter perfection. Yes, yes, yes! And the ending? A wall of solid sound rammed right into him—opaque and unavoidable. Perfect! This was what he had wanted!

Then it ended. Arthur paused, holding the baton up so the audience may relish the piece in its residual brilliance. They clapped; Arthur put his hands down, turned, and bowed.

This could be the best concert yet. Arthur turned to the next piece, and the percussionists in the back set themselves up. Then he began again.

The second piece was equally strong, in a way. The beginning and ending were as they should be, and the students managed to watch and stay together. The middle fell apart a bit. Arthur had missed the cue he had set up for the trumpets, and they came in a beat late. They realised the mistake though, and quickly caught up for the finale. Of course, it wasn't as good as the first piece, with the strength of a noodle drooping in the middle, but it was passable, in a loose sense. Not perfect, but good in its own way.

Without hesitation, Arthur started the next piece. His hands started to get clammy. With the great beginning, he was sure that the last would be fantastic, if not better. But his heart sped up. Something within him told him a foreboding. Eyes were staring. For a brief second, he looked back at Francis. The blond man had taken a seat in the front row. His legs were flopped over each other, and his arms were folded over his chest. He had a frown on his face, for an odd reason, creasing his forehead.

The basses missed their entrances. Arthur's attention switched back to the band, and he continued, keeping up. It was a small blunder. It wasn't going to happen again. So far, everything seemed to be going well, and nobody must have noticed the mistake.

Then the trumpets and clarinets didn't get the new tempo. The flutes followed close behind. The percussionists softened; he couldn't hear the bass drums anymore. The snare was off the beat. Someone squeaked, and it wasn't a clarinet. The band was dissolving. Frantic, Arthur waved his arms more vigorously, trying to get their attention, trying to make the cues more clear so they could get back together.

But it never did. The ending sounded like falling marimba keys. And it was over.

Arthur clenched his fists, forced a smile, and bowed to the audience. They clapped. He knew that they must have heard the mistakes; he could only hope that he could trick them into thinking that the mistakes were purposeful, or they would be too focused on the beginning pieces. After all, the concert wasn't a complete failure. The parents praised him for the overall pieces in the end. Francis didn't approach him though; he had left before Arthur noticed.

Later, he heard a girl talking with her boyfriend, a trombonist. He was helping the janitors out put away the excessive amount of seats, and the pair must have not noticed him standing there.

"The band is pretty bad this year."

"Yeah. I'm actually thinking of quitting."


	8. Chapter 8

**Special thanks to Apanovi and crazy purple ninja for subscribing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert in teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."  
—Søren Kierkegaard

Arthur came to school much earlier than normal. At the early hour of 3, he already unlocked the music room. His heart had fallen off the cliff the day before, and he couldn't sleep. He still couldn't sleep, so he decided to spend his time in school, where it was lonely, but not lonely enough that he would become exceedingly depressed over it. The music room had a beautiful guitar. It was the best instrument he had seen since he was a child; two years ago, he had wanted to rent the guitar out, but the school refused, with good reason.

He picked the guitar up, got a few sheets of staff paper and a pencil, and, huddled in a little corner of the room, began to compose, picking away on a improvised monotype melody.

Three hours passed by, and he filled in two sheets with scratched out measures and edited notes. He could hear footsteps walking down hallways above him, and voices coming from the echoey stairwell nearby. However, he was too engrossed in his composition to really notice; he was on a roll, and he didn't want to stop. Sure, he knew that the parts were rather crude and unrefined, but he could always change the weak parts for better ones, especially if he could think of a bass line and a harmony.

"It sounds beautiful, mon ami."

Arthur sputtered, playing a gross chord and dropping the instrument. "What? Bonnefoy? How did you get here?"

Francis, who had been leaning against the doorframe, straightened up. "I always get here around now." The cane came untucked from his arm, and he guided himself into the room. "Is this another one of those pieces from your favourite Romantic era? Are you practicing for something? A recital?"

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Hardly. I wrote this."

"Really? No wonder it sounds so beautiful," Francis said. His hip bumped against the side of the electric piano as he approached Arthur.

"Stop spitting out pretty words. It's crude." Francis' cane prodded against Arthur's guitar, and Arthur quickly gathered the instrument up again, shifting.

"Oh, but _mon ami_, it's a good type of crude. The song lured me here." Francis chuckled. Then Francis reached down and he took a seat on the ground beside Arthur, feeling his way.

"It's a piece, not a song! There are no lyrics!" Arthur snapped. Then he felt something on his leg. He looked down. Francis had accidentally placed his hand there—Arthur slapped it away.

"Oh-la-la, somebody is playing hard to get," Francis joked, laughing as he leaned back against the wall. Arthur kicked him. But he only laughed more.

"Shut the bloody hell up. I'm not. I hate your guts."

Francis wrapped his arms around his stomach, giving Arthur an offended duck face. "What did my guts ever do to you? They're only a tad bloody and filled with undigested food."

Arthur shoved Francis away. "That was a figure of speech. Learn English, frog."

"Ribbit."

Arthur crinkled his nose in disgust. "Bloody frog." With a grunt, he got back onto his feet.

"No! Ribbit!" Francis whined and clung onto Arthur's left foot. "Don't leave the frog prince! Royalty demands it!"

"Prince? What prince? I don't see a bloody prince." Arthur trudged forward, dragging Francis along. He could hear the painful sound of rug against cloth and skin, but Francis didn't let go and simply flipped onto his back instead. "Bloody hell! Let go of me, you fool! You're being unprofessional!"

"But the fool has fallen for the music of the bard! He doesn't want to perform for the king no more! He quits! He wants to sit on the throne and listen to all of the bard's music!"

Finally, Arthur slipped from Francis' grip, losing a shoe in the process. He quickly collected the shoe and ran to the door of the music room before Francis could catch him again. A guitar in one hand and a shoe in the other, he turned towards Francis, glaring and pointing at the offensive man still on the floor.

"I'm going to lock myself up in a janitor's closet, where nobody, especially the likes of you, can find me!"

"Oh, no, the king is going to lock the bard away! Worry not—the fool will—"

Arthur cut Francis off there, scrambling out of the room and slamming the door behind him. With a long sigh through his nose, he threw his shoe on the ground and put it back on. Francis was such a drama queen, alluding strange fantasy stories and flirting like a desperate, lovesick moron. Such blubbering and silly comments were absolutely repulsive, hardly appropriate in a work place. No normal person would act like how Francis, and if Arthur had been anybody else, Francis would have been kicked out of the school within a moment.

As Arthur placed the strap of the guitar back over his shoulder and he walked away, strumming a few notes, Francis' words echoed in the back of his brain. The more they repeated the more irritated Arthur became. As he passed the art room, Arthur was tempted to smash his guitar against the door. He would give a mess Francis would have to clean up, if Francis could in the first place. That would teach Francis to be unprofessional and foolish again.

At the same time, he wished he could believe Francis' compliments.


	9. Chapter 9

**Special thanks to Lunacy Nightmare, mirrorkirby64 and ClassyAnimeNerd for subscribing, and ClassyAnimeNerd for favouriting!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia._ It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information is from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Living is Easy with Eyes Closed."  
—John Lennon

Afterschool, Arthur threw a small ice cream party for the band, as per tradition. Since it was the day after the concert, Arthur wanted to celebrate a "job well done" (even though the concert's reception was a bit below par), and wanted to get the band members to discuss what they could do to improve themselves for the upcoming concert in the end of winter. But while the students went to get ice cream, Arthur realised that Francis wasn't around.

Even though Francis' company wasn't exactly welcome, Arthur had thought Francis would at least come for the cold treat. Arthur had been the only fine arts teacher for a while, but he had vowed that if the fine arts department increased in faculty, he would invite the whole department over, including Francis.

Asking one of the seniors to handle the students, Arthur left in search for Francis. Instinct immediately dragged him to the art room; why bother searching through the other wings of the school when Arthur only ever saw him in the art room? When he arrived, he saw light coming out. Of course he was right. But when he peered through the window in the door, Arthur saw Francis was talking with a student. In fact, he could hear the student and Francis. They were loud enough, and the walls were thin enough.

"What's the matter, _chérie_?" Francis asked from his seat.

"I want to talk to you about the painting assignment…" she replied, holding a page of sketch paper. Her head was bowed, staring. "I give up. I don't want to do this anymore."

"Oh, but why?"

"Nothing I can do seems to look right. My art grade is dipping, and it's hurting my GPA. I'm thinking of quitting."

"What?"

The girl's voice started to tremble. "I'm continuously getting terrible grades on my project, no matter how many times I try. I read all the critiques and everything. I want to make the proportions and technique right, but I just can't, and everything I draw looks like crap."

"No, no, no," Francis said, shaking his head. He reached out and took the sketch from the student's hands. "Ignore the grades. They mean nothing; you deserve A upon A upon A. Don't worry about them. Every one of your drawings is beautiful."

The girl sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "You can't say that. You can't even _see_ what I'm drawing. Do you know what I'm drawing now?"

"No, I can't."

"It's a fox. It's supposed to be a fox. But it looks like a raccoon-bear-buffalo mix." She hiccupped, her shoulders lurching.

"But it's a beautiful fox. It's mythical, with all the features of raccoons, bears, and buffalos. With some colour, it will reflect the night sky."

The student only started to cry harder. Arthur's heart clenched; it was like Francis was tormenting her, because he was complimenting her with only lies. What a despicable man. If Arthur could get a chance, he would report Francis to Romulus to get Francis out. Arthur couldn't watch Francis torment art students with lies.

Francis placed the canvas to the side, and he reached up towards the girl, but he stopped and let his hands fall. "Look, _chérie_, I can't see your work, but I know that it is beautiful. Do you know why?"

She shook her head.

"Because I can hear you. I can hear your pencil always moving. I can hear you taking more and more paper. I can hear all the work that you're putting into it. You don't ever stop. And that, _chérie,_ is true beauty."

Francis placed his hand on top of the coloured canvas. "So don't give up. You have so much potential. Your proportions and techniques can use some work, but that's something you can always improve. Just practice. The only thing that you can't obtain by practice is your drive to get better. And that is a talent you already have."

Suddenly, Arthur spun around and began to walk away. Eavesdropping was rude. He shouldn't have stood there, listening to a confidential conversation between student and teacher. He was lucky that neither Francis nor the student noticed, so he simply went back to the cafeteria.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"I've gotten really hot since you went blind."  
—John Green

Arthur didn't know what compelled him to go to the art room at such an ungodly hour on Monday morning. But whatever the force was, it was strong, because he found himself standing in a dark room that smelled of water, graphite, and acrylic paint. Although he had worked in the room for years, and nothing changed, the ambience felt strange. It felt new, as if he was being introduced to the art room for the first time. He walked around, running his fingers against papers, posters, and unfinished works of art.

Everything was in a bigger mess than he had first predicted. During his second round around the room, he started pushing things to make more room. All these papers and wood made a terrible fire hazard. And the trash can wasn't anything better. The little basket between a table and Arthur's desk was overflowing with crumpled paper. He made a note to himself to ask either Francis or the janitor to keep track of the basket content, although Francis probably wouldn't notice until he knocked it down with his cane or his foot. He bent over and started stuffing the papers deep within the bag and collected the papers around the sides. How sloppy Francis and his students were. Arthur figured that one of the students made such a mess, trying again and again with rough drafts after rough drafts in search for a perfect copy of his or her creation.

Immediately, Arthur started imagining that girl Francis was talking to. She had been crying, frustrated that she couldn't ever seem to get something right. He could see her sitting on one of the stools, bent over a canvas, and face in her hands. Francis would probably be sitting beside her, leaning over, and whispering kind, encouraging words. She had potential. She could do it. And one day, her art could be hanging on walls of art museums—celebrated because of its beauty.

For a moment, Arthur's heart clenched. He sat on the ground, and unfolded one of the pieces of papers. The sketch was immediately familiar. It was a replica of a drawing in the Sistine Chapel, where God, carried by cherubs and angels, reached out to Adam to give him the breath of life. The technique was extraordinarily good. He was amazed that a student could even draw with such precision. But at the same time, he could guarantee that it was a student. The proportions were wrong. Adam and God's bodies were skewed into an unnatural position. The shading didn't correlate with the rest of the drawings; some of the shadows were lighter than the midtones, a terribly amateur mistake. And the sketcher must have misjudged the size of the paper too, since God's feet were cut off. Any normal person would have realised how devastating these mistakes would be, yet the person kept going until he or she was finished before realising and throwing the sketch away. What a pity.

Carefully, Arthur folded the sketch up and stuck it into his pocket. He could go around and ask who drew the sketch. Then he could give the poor student some advice that Francis wouldn't be able to. But first, he should probably brush up on his drawing skills, despite being a bit rough around the edges. He didn't want to end up being a hypocrite like Francis, but at the same time, his drawing skills had limits. Nevertheless, practicing a bit before teaching would be better than not teaching at all.

After getting up, Arthur gathered some graphite pencils and paper, sat down at one of the students' tables, and began to draw.

At first, he started trying to draw the image from the Sistine Chapel. Everything started off fine. The anatomy, proportions and few details accurately emulated Michelangelo's original. However, as he progressed, the lines became rough, almost scratched out, and none of the shading smoothed out. In the end, Arthur crumpled the page and started anew. He was proud of his accomplishment, but it was hardly a role model.

This time, he started emulating other Renaissance paintings, such as Da Vinci's Mona Lisa. That too started off fine, but Arthur simply couldn't get the face down. It appeared morphed, as if two boards crushed her face and rearranged her features. He threw that out as well. He started a few other sketches, but in the end, he threw them all out.

Eventually, he started drawing what he loved most—landscape. He gave up on people. Nature was far more fascinating anyway; and simpler, but if Arthur were to say that, then he would be admitting that he was a failure at drawing people. So Arthur began drawing mountains, plains, wheat fields, and forests. Each scene became a new picture, which were kept and put to the side. His pencils kept scratching away, and when the tip disappeared, Arthur tossed it to the side and picked up a new one. He was on a roll, and he didn't want to stop.

Then the door opened. Arthur froze, looking to the side. Francis entered, humming a little tune. He locked the door behind him, not noticing Arthur at all.

Arthur coughed.

Francis jerked up. His humming ceased. "Who's there?" Francis called. He almost appeared like a meerkat with the way he stood, except his hands were at his sides and meerkats didn't wear sunglasses and carry red tipped canes.

"Bonnefoy."

A curved eyebrow arched over the frames of the sunglasses, and Francis turned towards the voice. "Arthur? You're here?"

"Well yes, who else would be here?" Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I have the keys to the art room too."

Francis laughed. "I would have thought that after all this time, you forgot what that key is even for," he said as he bumped his way towards Arthur.

"Are you saying that I'm never in the art room anymore?" Arthur fumed.

"If that's how you want to interpret me, then sure."

Arthur's thick eyebrow twitched, and his fist curled. "Why you…—Hey, don't sit there!" Arthur shoved Francis away, scrambling to get his drawings from the stool.

Francis stumbled back. "What? Why? Don't you like my company?" He climbed onto the stool again, but Arthur didn't stop him.

"Absolutely not. I despise your company," Arthur sneered, clutching his sketches to his chest. Francis' stupid butt almost crushed his masterpieces. God, didn't Francis check before he sat down?

"Aww, I'm wounded." Francis placed his hand against his chest, feigning being shot in the heart. "Oh well. Your company is rather loathsome too. You're such a stickler."

Arthur sputtered. "I'm not a stickler!"

"Well, then, you're _boring_, _mon ami_. Only boring people come to school this early in the morning, when the school is empty and not even the janitors are here."

"That makes _you_ boring too! You're here too!"

"Ah, but _mon ami_," Francis said, flipping his hair over his shoulder, "I'm here because I have something to do. At least _I_ have a life outside of the classroom, rather than sitting around waiting for a student to enter."

Growling, Arthur slammed his drawings on the table, the paper ruffling. "I _am_ here to do something!"

"Oh? Then what exactly are you doing?" Francis leant forward, resting his arms over each other on the table with his cane dangling at his side.

Immediately, a blush found its way on Arthur's face. He never really demonstrated his drawings before, but it wouldn't exactly be "demonstrating" when the "audience" couldn't see anything. "W-well, I'm drawing. Sketching, to be more accurate."

Francis' face lit up. "Oh, sketching? Of what?"

"Landscape."

"What sort of landscape?"

"Mountains. Trees. Stuff. The usual."

"Sounds beautiful."

Arthur faltered, scowling. Turning his head away, he said, "You don't know that. You can't even see any of my drawings. You even almost sat on them too!"

"Then let me watch you draw."

"You can't even see anything."

"Well, speak of the obvious. But I think you know what I had meant, unless your grip on the English language is rather shaky."

"Like the _frog_ beside me has the right to say that."

Hesitantly, Arthur turned back towards the table, staring at the splay of papers in front of him. The drawings suddenly didn't look as nice as he had thought. None of the lines flowed, and the details were gaudy, hardly natural at all. Plants didn't look like plants, and the clouds looked more like blotches than anything else. But Francis was waiting, sitting there patiently. He might not see, but he was facing Arthur, as if he could. Gulping, Arthur picked up his pencil, shifted to the work he was finishing, and began to draw.

His hands became clammy. His lines became lighter; the scratching of the pencil became faint, as he hoped that Francis wouldn't hear and judge. Eyes shifted back and forth from the page to Francis and his unwavering face, almost soulless when covered by the large sunglasses. For brief moments, Arthur could see through the sunglasses, and saw the foggy, unseeing eyes, surrounded by numerous jagged scars.

Suddenly, Arthur threw down his pencil; Francis jolted up. "Your presence is ruining my sketches!" Arthur announced, glowering at Francis.

"But why? It's beautiful."

Arthur sneered. "You don't know that. You can't support your argument. You don't even know what beauty is when it's right in front of your face."

Francis sighed, bringing his arms closer to his chest. "Then, do you want to go to an art museum tomorrow? It's Saturday, and I heard there are new exhibits and pieces. Do you want to go look through them? It's beautiful."

Arthur hesitated. "Fine."

"Good." Francis slipped off the stool and pushed it under the table. "I'll see you in the front of the Visual Arts Studio tomorrow, at one. Is that fine with you?"

"Fine." Arthur nodded. He knew that Francis wouldn't know what to do tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Special thanks to marinoa for reviewing the story; marinoa, LawlietLight7, Cami Boricua and Kignon for subscribing; and LawlietLight7 and Cami Boricua for favouriting! You guys are why I'm still writing and updating!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia._ It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness, and all information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"To crooked eyes truth may wear a wry face"  
―J.R.R. Tolkien

Arthur met Francis in the front of the art museum. While Arthur had arrived at one sharp, having eaten his lunch while he walked, Francis came later, about 15 minutes to be exact. He kept turning his head, sliding his pale hand against the railing looking out at the river and gripping his cane so tightly that it trembled along the ground. Arthur scowled, watching Francis approach from the left. He paused until he called out to Francis.

"Bonnefoy, you're late."

Francis turned his head directly towards Arthur. A grin split his face, and he parted from the railing. "Arthur! You're here!"

"And you're bloody late. You told me one o'clock, but here you are, 15 minutes late," Arthur leered.

"Oh, but _mon ami_, I'm only _fashionably_ late," Francis said with a chuckle.

"I had to _wait_ for you!"

"Why, thank you. I knew you liked me enough to wait for me."

"I didn't wait for you because of how much I liked you—which, by the way, I can't like you any less than I already do—but because we had agreed at a time and place for this _appointment_."

"Oh, is this a _date_ I'm hearing?" Francis asked, cupping his hand near his ear. "Why, Arthur, I didn't know you were the indirect romantic."

"Not date. An _appointment._ Like going to the dentist for a root canal. Or going to take my wisdom teeth out."

"Why, Arthur, I didn't know you were into roleplaying either. How dirty."

Arthur was tempted to kick Francis in the shin and watch him fall to the ground, but he was afraid of getting sued, so he imagined throwing Francis into the river. In the end, he turned around and resorted to muttering under his breath, "Not only ignorant, cocky and shameless, but flamboyantly queer too. Inappropriate in all situations possible."

Francis pouted. "That's mean to say."

"I'll say what I wish around you. You deserve it," Arthur snapped. "Let's just go. It's about time I prove my point." Then he turned and entered the museum, which was open to the public. Francis followed closely behind with one hand outstretched towards Arthur.

White greeted them. The whole museum was white; the podiums, ceiling tiles, walls, lights, floor, they were an immaculate white. It was like walking into a dying hospital. The few people and children who wandered in appeared like splashes of colours, wandering and moving across a still canvas. The paintings stood starkly against its surroundings. There was nothing except the paintings and the people. Arthur could hear the few bits of words exchanged between the viewers, but besides that, all he could hear were the shoes scrapping and clicking against the tiled floor.

Arthur felt Francis' hand going around his wrist. He slapped it away. "So where do you want to go?" Arthur whispered, afraid to cut through the silence with his voice.

"Somewhere. Surprise me," Francis replied. His voice carried through building and rooms. Heads turned towards him and stared. They didn't look away, and Arthur could feel his heart clench.

"Quiet down," Arthur murmured.

"Why? This isn't a library."

"Just shut up, will you?"

Francis sighed, his fingers curling into his palms. "Fine…"

"Good." Arthur straightened, waving the stares around them away. "Let's… Let's go…" He paused, glancing around. It seemed like this was where the surreal paintings were. "Let's go look at the surreal paintings."

"Oh, I love surrealism."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Figured you would."

Then he blazed down the exhibit. Francis followed close behind, stuttering in his steps and tapping the Arthur's heels with his cane. He called for Arthur to slow down, but Arthur didn't want to. In his mind, the paintings weren't all that unique, and he only gave them cursory glances. They each followed a particular "formula" for the given "genre," like a copy of Salvador Dali.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped. Francis bumped into Arthur's back, sending both of them stumbling forward. Arthur luckily caught them both and gave Francis a glare before returning to the painting, his face twisting with disgust.

"You finally stopped," Francis said, his breath short and relieved. "Did something catch your eye?"

"Something grotesque," Arthur replied, scowling as he looked over the painting. It was of a toilet covered with eyeballs. The style was horrific, with sketchy strokes and dark colours. There was no background, only a reddish black. The eyeballs peered up at the viewer, and Arthur could see yellow water in the bowl. The object and eyes were twisted and human-like; if Arthur were to tilt his head to the side, the toilet didn't look like a toilet at all with it's almost indiscernible shape. "Who in their bloody mind would think of something like this, much less paint it?"

"Well, it's still art. Grotesque is art too, you know."

"But it's a… toilet… with stuff on it. Eyeballs, and they're peering right at you. Who drew this? A pervert?"

"Oh, Arthur, you simply don't understand it. There is a lot of meaning in a toilet with stuff in it. Look at the colouring of the dirtied white. It could convey…"

Francis trailed off, talking with large gestures and describing what he couldn't see. Speculation flowed from his mouth, as if he were some intelligent art critic, pointing out colours, technique, placement and symbols. All of them seemed made up. He talked about the faecal matter depicted in the toilet bowl and around it; there was no faecal matter anywhere, unless Francis was talking about the dark background surrounding the misshapen toilet, which Francis was describing as something clear and distinct. And Francis was talking about the eyeballs peering from the toilet as if they were those peering from a face, and that the toilet was a metaphor for humans and faces, begging for empathy. The speculation couldn't have been anymore incorrect; there were multiple eyeballs, and not a face could be seen in the painting. The toilet was nothing more than a grotesque a nightmare.

Eventually, Arthur didn't hear Francis' words. He just let Francis trail off, keeping silent as if he were listening to the bullshit comments. He wanted to find something else—anything to distract him. He glanced to the left. Then he glanced to the right. He even looked behind him. Nothing particularly attracted him, and nothing he could deem as something worthy for his attention.

That was until he peered around the column holding the toilet painting. He saw a beautiful, romantic Renaissance painting in the exhibit past surrealism. It grabbed his attention like a claw. He needed to look at it closely. So silently, he walked away from Francis—he could deal with himself; after all, he walked from his home to the art museum by himself—and into the room over. Slowly, he approached the painting in all of its framed glory, examining it as he walked until he stopped only a mere foot away. And there he stood, staring. He didn't want to leave. The sounds of outside and the mutters and footsteps from other people drowned away. There was nothing except Arthur and that painting. Not even time touched him.

"Arthur? Where are you?"

The panicked voice jolted Arthur from his reverie. He turned and saw Francis walking through the rooms, tapping his cane but not registering what was in front of him. Francis bumped into somebody, quickly excused himself, and continued moving. He threaded back into the surrealist room, nearly stubbing his toe into a podium. He called again and again, his voice getting louder and starting to shake. People around him peered at him curiously, but nobody spoke up. Finally, with a sigh, Arthur walked over to Francis.

"I'm here, Bonnefoy."

Francis snapped around. His face had paled and sweat trickled from his forehead. His fingers had kept running through his blond locks to the point that his hair looked unkempt, and more strands hung loose from his ponytail in the back.

"Arthur?"

"I'm right here, Bonnefoy," Arthur repeated, reaching over and tugging on Francis' sleeve. "What has gotten you all worked up?"

"Oh… You just left me suddenly and didn't tell me," Francis replied. His other hand groped around, looking for Arthur's hand.

Arthur scoffed. "What? I need to get permission to walk around on my own now? I'm not two, Bonnefoy."

"I know… But it would have been nice if you told me beforehand." He laughed. "You know, it's just uh… teacher's instincts. You sort of freak out when you don't know where people are, since you work with children all the time. And… and…"

Arthur sighed. "I get it; I get it. It happens to all the teachers eventually, in a way, I guess." He pulled Francis' hand away from him and put some distance between himself and Francis.

"So, did you find anything that caught your attention?"

"Well, yes, actually. It's a Renaissance painting, of sorts."

Francis' face lit up. "I figured you'd like the more romantic, classical works. So what is it?"

A smile crept across Arthur's face and he sighed. The mere memory of the painting created a duplicate image of it in front of him. He could stare at it all day.

"It's beautiful."


	12. Chapter 12

**Special thanks to LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole for reviewing; AkaChanDango, StupendousPotassium and My-Beautiful-World for favouriting; and AkaChanDango, StupendousPotassium, dizzy badger and My-Beautiful-World for subscribing! You guys are why I continue to write and update!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information is from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."  
—Henry David Thoreau

In the beginning of art class on Monday, Arthur stood up to make an announcement of sorts. With Francis graciously stepping to the side, Arthur took out the sketch he had found in the trash on Friday morning.

"I've been noticing an increased amount of crumpled paper in the wastebasket lately," Arthur started as he carefully unfolded the sketch. "Now, I'm not here to lecture you about recycling the paper instead, since you all should know that we should reuse resources when possible, but more so about not tossing out your drafts. They shouldn't be tossed out; they are a mode to measure your improvement, and you can always refer back to them if you'd like to add something to your final draft that you had in your rough. I know they won't look extraordinary, or aesthetically pleasing, but they are only drafts, and they're for you rather for anybody else."

He flattened the sketch. He was hesitant to lift the sketch up, glancing over to Francis to see what the other was thinking about this demonstration. Unfortunately, the expression was unreadable through the thick sunglasses, and Arthur turned back to the class, presuming that the "indifference" was an approval to continue.

"Thus, I would like to bring your attention to a draft I recently found in the waste basket." Arthur lifted the sketch to show, and saw the students' eyes widen and whispers filter through the relative silence. "As everyone can see, it's a stunning emulation of Michelangelo's depiction of God and Adam in the Sistine Chapel. Each line and shadow was drawn with skill. Of course, like all drafts, there are flaws especially in the degrees of darkness and in proportions, which can easily be fixed. I don't know why anybody would deem this right for a trash bin." Then Arthur slowly folded the sketch up again. "So I would like to know who drew this sketch and discuss it with him or her. It has great potential, and I would like to help him or her unlock this potential. So if anyone knows who he or she is, please tell me."

Arthur stepped off his "podium" and took the seat beside Francis. All the students were whispering amongst each other, asking around about who this mysterious artist was. The responses were a resounding shrug or a shake of the head. Arthur turned to look at Francis, but the arts teacher was still. With a scowl, Arthur nudged Francis into movement, beckoning him to go back to teaching, but Francis turned to Arthur, smiled, and told him that, with a "speech" like that, he should probably teach the students for a day about drafting. So Arthur did. He got to his feet and began to teach the class, much as he did the year before. Francis straggled behind, sitting in the seat Arthur normally sat.

Francis remained oddly silent.


	13. Chapter 13

**Special thanks to Argentum Tantibus and LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole for reviewing; yaoiforever666 and N92.9141b for favouriting; and shinobiqueen and N92.9141b for subscribing! You guys are why I continue to write and update!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"If you see the world in black and white, you're missing important grey matter."  
—Jack Fyock

"Maybe we should stay off of Shakespeare. Everybody does Shakespeare," Francis said as he tapped a pencil on the desk.

Arthur sat across from Francis at one of the tables in the art room. His eyes skimmed over the list of drama productions before him. "But Shakespeare is a classic! Who wouldn't like a good Shakespeare? _Romeo and Juliet, Taming of the Shrew, Hamlet…"_

"Not necessarily. The literature students are always complaining about them."

"That's because they don't understand the mastery of Shakespeare!" Arthur shot Francis a glare, but the fellow fine arts teacher made no reaction; after all, Francis didn't know. "They don't understand the significance of the poetry and the pure philosophy that make his plays utterly timeless!"

"That's the point! It's better to give them something they can understand than something…" Francis moved his hand back and forth, frowning. "Something… out there. Way out there."

"Are you calling Shakespeare _strange_?" Arthur snapped, slamming his hand against the table surface.

"Maybe… _larger than life_ is a better term."

"You're just trying to create some sort of silver lining!"

"Of course. As you can tell, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare myself. I don't get what the hype is all about. It's just some old English actor writing in iambic pentameter and rhyming every other line."

Arthur sputtered, almost as if he were choking on air. "_What_?" He leant forward, straining against the table. "Are you _blind_? Can't you see the beauty in everything Shakespeare does?"

"Well, yeah. My cane and sunglasses aren't here just for decorations, you know."

Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. "I don't mean like that!"

"Then what other sort of blind do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. He really didn't know why he was arguing with Francis in the first place; he wasn't going to win anyway. Leaning against his left arm, he snatched the pencil from Francis' fingers and then hovered the tip of the utensil over the Shakespeare plays. "Fine. We'll take Shakespeare from the list, all to satisfy your and the students' lack of good taste," he spat, then he crossed the titles off the list. "So what else do you suggest?"

Francis paused for a brief moment, tilting his head this way and that. Silence pervaded through the room. It was starting to make Arthur antsy. He tapped his fingers on the table. And the pencil. Then his feet. Eventually, he started humming the jeopardy song, taunting Francis to think faster. But Francis remained silent, "looking" at things he couldn't see. He didn't even seem to notice the cacophony Arthur was making, much to Arthur's displeasure.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. "Well?"

"I was thinking that we should have some colour for the art show next month. Sketches are quite dull, don't you think?"

"You are completely off topic!" Arthur cried, throwing his hands into the air and flipping the pencil away. "We aren't talking about the art show! We're talking about the drama production!"

"But it's still pretty important! I want the students to start creating their portfolio and possibly work on something new to put on for the show. So far, we only have sketches."

"Then we'll have them dabble in something else. Like watercolour or something."

"Do we have pottery?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. Not enough money for that. I've been trying to persuade the administration for more funding, but they won't give us a single extra penny. I gave up a long time ago."

"… All right."

"You'll think of something. But right now, think about what sort of production we should put on!"

"Fine… _Les Misérables?_"

Arthur sputtered and choked. "_What_?"

"_Les Misérables_. You should know this."

"But that's practically like an opera! Where would we get the music?"

"Maybe you can bring the band in? It will be collaboration."

"But we have the Pops concert to worry. We don't have time for something this complicated or this grand in scale. We're cutting it close already. We need something simple. Like Shakespeare."

Francis groaned, leaning back. "We already discussed Shakespeare. We need something simple but interesting."

"Shakespeare is interesting!"

"And overdone. What about _Phantom of the Opera_?"

"Outrageous! What's with you and overcomplicated musicals? We're a small school with a possibly small cast and little to no resources at all for either the set or the practical effects! What makes you think we can put on a show like that?"

Francis shrugged and smiled. "You never know. Maybe the school will surprise you, and we do have everything we need."

"No, we don't."

"Aww, you're just being a downer with a stick up his butt. Why not give it a chance?"

"No. I'm being _real_. We need something simple! _Simple!_ That's the keyword!

"Fine…" Francis sighed, leaning against the table. "Then… _Aida_?"

"_Aida_?" Arthur repeated, furrowing his brow and frowning. "Do you mean that weird Disney-style Egyptian love story museum thing?"

"I… suppose you can describe it like that. I recently heard that a neighbouring high school put on the show, and it was simple and well-done."

Arthur rubbed his forehead as he thought, sighing deeply through his nose and looking down on the list of plays, mostly containing Shakespeare. _Aida_ was not even close to being on the list.

"Well, would that satisfy you?"

"I suppose." Arthur took up the list and crumpled it into a ball. "I'll research it and put up auditions."

Francis' smile widened. "Don't worry. You won't be disappointed."

"I hope not." Arthur tossed the crumpled ball into the nearest recycling bin.


	14. Chapter 14

**Special thanks to La Rose Enchainee for reviewing! This is why I keep writing and updating!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Some men see things as they are and ask why.  
Others dream things that never were and ask why not."  
—George Bernard Shaw

Aida passed Arthur's inspection. It definitely wasn't as ideal as Shakespeare, but Arthur knew that Francis was adamant against Shakespeare because the plays were too large for life. So, with help with Francis, Arthur put the play up.

Advertisement must have been relatively effective, or students had interest in the musical. A good portion of the student body tried out for parts, and Arthur was happy that he wouldn't need to double-up parts as he did the year before. Unfortunately, too little people wanted to play the music, so they needed to find recordings for the actors and actresses to sing along to. But other than the small hiccup, the musical was progressing smoothly.

Except for the amateur skill. Somehow, Francis was the least satisfied out of both of them.

"Put some more passion into your words," Francis told the two leads. "Don't let monotony bring you down. This is a love story! You need to be passionate! Think sex—"

Arthur slapped his hand on Francis' mouth. "What the hell are you saying? This is a high school! There will be no sex involved!" He looked back at the pair of leads, who were giving each other mutual frowns. "Ignore Mr. Bonnefoy. He's just being crude."

Francis pulled the hand away from his face. "I'm not being crude!" he exclaimed, offended. "I'm just giving them advice! Something to envision! To get some emotion into their voices! All I hear is bland… meh…" His face twisted and he stuck out his tongue. "The two of you are dying in a coffin together. This is when everything should be sad and romantic! Tug on some heart strings. The concept is tragic already, but what truly brings that out is your voices. That's what acting is!"

The female lead, a snarky one, folded her arms over her chest, leaning on one leg. "And how would we do that, Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"Let me show you." Francis turned towards Arthur, still holding onto Arthur's hand, and leaned his cane against the wall behind him. "One moment please." He took off his sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them into his shirt pocket. His eyes rose along with the hand holding Arthur's. Then with a whispered, silky voice, he spoke. "I'm right here with you. There is another world waiting for us. I can feel it. The way I always knew there was a world beyond every bend of the Nile. Just waiting to be discovered."

Arthur was shocked. Scars littered the whole area around Francis' eyes. Jagged, pale lines coursed from the eyes, cutting through tanner skin and his thin eyebrows. It was like something had exploded in the centre of his nose, sending shrapnel in two directions. Unseeing eyes seemed to stare into Arthur's own. Once blue, they were milky white with splotches and tinges of red. Blood and scars. Arthur's other hand hovered millimetres away from Francis' opened eyes. Francis didn't move, even though it appeared like Arthur was going to poke the eye out. As Arthur stared, the feeling of glass cutting his face made his eyes water.

"You will find me in that world?"

"If I have to search for a hundred life times, I will find you again."

"Gay!"

Suddenly, the image of the scars disappeared. Faces swirled around him. The taste of dirt, grass and tears stung his tongue. Catcalls and laughter echoed around him. A back was turned, and a pitying, apologetic smile peered over the shoulder. Somebody patted his shoulder and apologised. _"I'm so sorry,"_ a small voice whispered, over and over again. Then the apologies faded away. Chants surrounded him, each in a different voice he couldn't identify, like cultists hissing curses into his ears.

"_Gay!"_

"_Gay!"_

_Gay._

Arthur shoved Francis away. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he sneered.

Francis frantically put his sunglasses back on. "I was trying to demonstrate."

"Who gave you permission to go touchy-feely? You _unprofessional_, little _wanker_!"

"But you seemed cooperative. You even said the next line!"

"I don't care! You had no right to use me for your cheesy drama demonstration!"

"But, Arthur—"

Arthur groaned, rubbing his fingers against his wrinkled forehead. "I need a break. I'm going to get a drink. I'll be back." He turned and marched out of the audition room.

Francis reached for his cane, but it clattered to the ground. He felt the ground, searching for it. "Wait, Arthur!"

But Arthur already slammed the door behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Special thanks Alhe's-Nevereverland for subscribing and favouriting!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on blindness and teaching. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"To love another person is to see the face of God."  
—Victor Hugo

Arthur didn't come back. He tucked himself into the cramped art room, doors locked, and sat on one of the stool, staring at the table or occasionally glancing at his watch.

He could still hear the jeer. _Gay. Gay. Gay._ Each echo was a stab to his chest. Memories he hoped that would never resurface haunted him again. They made him wish he never returned to high school, even for a teaching career, and made him vow to never fall in love again.

In the third year of his high school career, Arthur had a crush on a younger, American football player, Alfred F. Jones. Alfred fit in the jock stereotype—fit, large, loud, demanding, all brawn and no brain, and arrogant. But he held a certain charm with him that even wallflower Arthur fell in love with. He was popular. People cheered for him, followed him around, adored him. Unlike the majority of the popular teens, he deserved all the attention. Outgoing. Friendly. He loved everybody. He talked with everybody. He wanted to help everybody. One time, his friend shoved a smaller child around. Instead of supporting his friend, Alfred broke his friend's nose, sending them wrestling on the sidewalk until Alfred's arm snapped. But on the next day, Alfred's heart of gold shown through, and the two were best friends again.

Arthur knew he was gay ever since he had a crush on his best friend, Kiku. But he kept his homosexuality and love under wraps. He was afraid of the repercussions, so he grinned and bore it until his feelings faded away a year later. Since then, he told himself he would keep his crushes on other males a secret, but when he fell in love with Alfred, Arthur felt like he would be an exception. For days, Arthur would fantasise about life with Alfred, and each story seemed to end in eternal happiness. There would be no unwanted consequences.

At first, Arthur wanted to simply wait out his feelings, like what he did with his crush on Kiku. Then his other friend, Vladimir, found out. Arthur denied his crush on Alfred, but Vladimir knew him too well and managed to squeeze the truth out. Although not homosexual himself, since he had been chasing a girl and competing for her love for God knew how long, Vladimir was supportive. His encouraging words and "schemes" were appealing. Eventually, Arthur believed that maybe his fantasies would come true, and when he planned to confess to Alfred, Vladimir cheered him on.

The consequences were unfortunate. That was the most accurate way to describe them. Arthur had managed to get to talk to Alfred privately, bringing them both in the back of the school after classes ended. Arthur worked up all of his courage. He stood tall, fisted hands stuck deep into his pockets. His chin was up, and his eyes aimed right at Alfred's. He didn't waver. He showed no fear, gathering all the confidence he collected during his lifetime. But his voice trembled.

"_Alfred, would you go out with me?"_

Alfred gave Arthur a pitying smile, slowly shaking his head. Arthur's heart plummeted to his stomach, hitting every rib along the way. Alfred told him that he was sweet and chivalrous; he was great company, and struck up the best conversations because of his intelligence and sophistication. However, Alfred never saw Arthur anything more than a peer, and would never love him like he loved Alfred. With that, Alfred rejected Arthur and left.

Arthur would have been more satisfied if everything ended like that. He was grateful that Alfred had been respectful about everything, and wanted to at least remain as an acquaintance. But the timing threw fairness off-balance. If Arthur had confessed later, or persuaded Alfred to leave school with him briefly, then Arthur wouldn't have been pushed to the ground afterwards. But, he didn't, and he hadn't thought about privacy. During the time, one of Alfred's friends was looking for Alfred to collect him to go to a game. The moment he had found the teen was when Arthur made his love confession.

Gossip spread like cancer. Rotten ideas planted themselves into the student population. The word had reached every student by the day after. Everybody knew Arthur was in love with Alfred, the most popular jock in the school. No fingers pointed at Alfred, who had avoided the kick by rejecting Arthur and by his popularity that couldn't be tarnished. However, Arthur was a nobody; it was easy to create a twisted image around him. He became disgusting, sinful—he was a villain. The Devil, while Alfred was Jesus who pushed noxious temptation away. People began to treat Arthur differently. Hateful letters were shoved into his locker. People pulled him aside to scorn him. He ate dirt. Mockery swirled around him. Arthur was no longer a man, or a teen boy anymore. He was just something to be shoved aside or annihilated lest his disease spread onto innocent bystanders. And nobody saved him. Alfred would stop people if he was there, but that was the extent of it all. Teachers had a blind eye; boys were boys, as they thought, not quite putting one with one when the behaviour wasn't in the forefront of their minds. And Vladimir—he apologised. "I'm sorry" streamed from his mouth until tears flowed out. Finally, Arthur simply shook his head, and let Vladimir go. Distance developed between the two once best friends. They would exchange a few glances and a handful of pleasantries, but their friendship ended. Arthur couldn't blame him. If anyone found out that Vladimir was on Arthur's side, then Vladimir would only fall into a pitiless abyss of despair, one further down than what Arthur was falling into.

Arthur was all alone. He didn't go to anybody for help. He just took what was given to him. He was a strong individual. A little too strong. He only made vows for himself, and pretended nothing was going on. He didn't run away; he stood his ground, but didn't move. To any innocent bystander, he was just another aloof, reserved individual.

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Distance was his strength. Professionalism was his shield. And perfection was his sword. If everything was only about work, then Arthur wouldn't worry about anything or anybody. It was only about ability. He laid judgement solely on competence. He couldn't rely on anybody unless somebody could get the work done better than he could. If something wasn't about work, then it didn't matter to Arthur. He shouldn't worry about the past. It was stopping him from going back to the rehearsal. But he didn't want to go back.

Suddenly, the door opened. Arthur stiffened, remaining silent. He knew who the intruder was: The clicking of a cane against the floor gave it away. Why was it always him? Couldn't he leave Arthur alone without further making him feel uncomfortable? Maybe if Arthur remained as quiet and still as possible, he would go unnoticed, like a prey under the nose of a predator.

"Arthur, the rehearsals ended. I let them all out early. Are you all right?"

Arthur let his finger twitch, but he remained silent.

Francis sighed, running his thin fingers through his hair. "Arthur, I know you're in here," he called, closing the door behind him and walking through the art room.

But Arthur merely watched. Francis was groping around the art room, tapping his cane against the legs of the tables and bumping into the boxes and chairs that were strewn all over by careless art students. He walked like a moth searching for light, when there was no light to begin with, but he gave no heed for anything that was in his way.

Finally, Arthur couldn't watch Francis anymore. "Be careful, you git. You're going to knock something important over at this rate."

Francis' face lit up, turning towards Arthur as if he had finally found a beacon to follow. "Glad it seems like I haven't yet," he said as he weaved around the table for a seat beside Arthur.

"Maybe you have, but just didn't notice," Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Francis laughed. "You don't give me any credit! I'm perceptive enough."

"As perceptive as a dead mole."

"The kettle calling the pot black."

Arthur snorted, scowling. But he fell silent after that. Francis waited for him to respond with a snide remark, but none came. The clock ticked time away. Arthur stared at Francis, and Francis faced him. No movement was made, each waiting for the other to do something.

Finally, Francis sighed and leant his cane against the table. "Arthur."

"Mr. Kirkland, Bonnefoy."

"I'm sorry."

Arthur jerked back. "For what?"

"I stepped over the line. And I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Damn right, you should be bloody sorry! You freaked me out!"

"I know, I know… and I cleared things up. Don't worry."

"… What did you tell them?"

"I told them that I freaked you out because I took off my glasses, and you're squeamish about my eyes."

"That makes me sound like a pus. Asshole."

Francis shrugged. "What else was I supposed to say?"

Arthur exhaled through his nose, folding his arms on the table and resting on them. "I suppose that would have been the best option…" He paused. His eyes looked up at Francis, who turned down when he heard Arthur's voice near the table. For a moment, Arthur wanted to hug Francis—tell him "thank you." A long time had passed since he remembered feeling that way towards anyone except his parents. Instead, however, he asked, "So do you know the truth…?"

"No." Francis shook his head. "But I don't need to know why."

A smile travelled over Arthur's face. He felt something dry get stuck into his throat. Blinking more, he turned and buried his nose into the sleeves of his shirt.

"Arthur?"

"… What?"

"You're beautiful."

"You sound like a lovesick idiot when you say that."

"I'm just a sentimental man."

"Bloody softy."


	16. Chapter 16

**Special thanks to LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole and Yuu Kirkland for reviewing; ceilnw22 and KaryAzuc for favouriting; and ceilnw22, KaryAzuc and Yuu Kirkland for subscribing! You guys are the reason why I keep writing and updating!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"A child on a farm sees a plane fly overhead and dreams of a faraway place.  
A traveller on the plane sees the farmhouse below and dreams of home."  
—Robert Brault

One day, Arthur felt compelled to stay afterschool a little late. The end of the year was coming close, and the students and teachers were winding down, including Arthur, who had never relaxed until the end of the school year before. In the years past, he would always follow a strict schedule: wake up at five, arrive to school at six, follow the class rotation, wait after school, when he would either be practicing with the band or monitoring the art students and the after school clubs that were staying late, until around four or half past three if nobody was around, then go back home, finish grading music theory work for about an hour or two, watch his favourite shows at their designated times (he always made room for _Doctor Who_), at dinner at exactly half past six, and compose or practice some music until he stumbled to bed at eleven. The only times when that schedule would change were during holidays or events, or when he needed to clear his mind. He always had a reason. Never did he break that schedule simply because he was "compelled to."

Staying until six in the evening felt strange to Arthur. Nobody was around. Even the sporting teams had left a while ago. For a brief moment, Arthur felt like he was all alone with the janitors, who would periodically cross him in the hallways and nod towards him politely.

This loneliness was different from his other moments of loneliness after school at home or in the early, early morning hours at school. During those times, he felt satisfied. Refreshed. People were going to arrive soon, or he would be going back to work soon enough. But this loneliness felt stale. The school seemed darker; the lights were on and the sun was still peeping from the horizon, but Arthur felt like the place was dark, as if he were walking through the forest during the dead of night with will-o-wisps bobbing beside him. The place was silent, almost dead. The doors were locked. The janitors had left, for the soft scuffing of their brooms and such disappeared, replaced with silence. All he could hear was the light taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. Something had left the school, and for a brief moment, Arthur thought that it was never going to come back.

He was proven wrong when he passed the art room. Suddenly, there was a crack—a distinct sound of a pen being thrown to the ground. Arthur jerked up. He looked at the doors, but he saw only darkness filter through the cracks and the windows. The art room appeared so distinctly empty that he wondered if he were hallucinating the sound, or there was a ghost floating about. Heart pounding in his chest, he peered in.

On the other side of the art room was a faint, coloured glow he wouldn't have noticed through the window. One of the computers was turned on, and a figure was hunched over the desk, hands holding his head up and fingers going through the locks of blond hair.

"Bonnefoy?" Arthur called.

Francis flinched slightly, but he didn't move. His sunglasses were off, set aside next to the keyboard. Arthur could clearly see the scarred eyes, which were screwed shut.

"Bonnefoy, what are you doing at this late of an hour? Shouldn't you be home?"

Slowly, Francis unfolded himself, rubbing his face with his hands. "Usually I leave at seven, but I'm thinking of going early."

"You better. Even the janitors left a while ago."

"I know." Francis groped around the desk until his hand landed on his sunglasses. Then he put it back where it belonged and reached for the mouse. "Why are you here so late?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. I… guess I just lost track of time."

"Ah. That usually happens."

"_Internet Explorer,"_ the computer said. Francis shuffled his hand a bit. _"Exit."_

"I can turn off the computer. You better get back home. You look tired."

Francis sighed. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Go. I don't want to see your ugly face any longer than I have to."

Francis chuckled, shaking his head. Then he thanked Arthur, gathered all his things, and shuffled out of the door without saying another word.

Arthur watched him go. That was strange. He had expected Francis to say something else, or do something—maybe a little hand gesture to the side. But no, he jostled Arthur over, and simply left. Shrugging, Arthur walked over to the computer and took up the mouse. However, something was in the way, and he looked at the desk. A desktop tablet was attached, sitting innocently without a pen. But what was strange about it was that the school didn't have drawing tablets, and Arthur didn't dabble in electronic art. So how did it get there? Again, he shrugged, and pushed the tablet aside so he could move the mouse more freely. He moved the over the many images of the Sistine Chapel on Google, listening to the little blurbs the computer crackled out.

"_Adobe Photoshop."_

Arthur froze. Photoshop. Why was Photoshop open? He took a seat and searched the little bar on the bottom to find that, indeed, the program was open. Hesitantly, he clicked the icon, expecting to find the program unused, or with a blank canvas.

But instead, he saw thick dark lines all over, strewn haphazardly without any real image. But each stroke seemed to have a purpose, except they had no connection to each other.

Squinting slightly, Arthur tried to make out an image, connecting the lines nearby in order to form a mental image. He had played this sorts of games before; as a child, he would sit at a desk with his friends and they would grab crayons and attempt to draw pictures with their eyes closed, and then guess what they were trying to draw.

A pang shot through his heart. He looked down at the desktop tablet again, eyes wide as his mind recognised what was going on. His hand ran over the top, feeling the deep scratches over the surface. In a fit, he slammed the mouse down, and hit the power button. The computer stopped running. The art room returned into complete darkness. Arthur couldn't see a thing, but when he moved his head to the right, he could see the moon. The beautiful moon that he could draw.

What a fool Francis was; Arthur thought. Only fools would try to draw the Sistine Chapel.


	17. Chapter 17

**Special thanks to casswalkca for subscribing and favouriting!**

**And special thanks to J'suis le Canada for the awesome guest review! Thank you so much for leaving your critiques. I will take your suggestions to heart; I've already gone through the next few chapters and have attempted to keep the mood consistent ('course, I don't guarantee that I did the job right, since I have to develop that skill and I've had trouble with mood consistency in the past, but I do feel like it's a bit better than it was before). I'm glad that you like this story, and I hope to keep up with your expectations, or possibly exceed them, in the next few chapters until the end. I hope to see you soon. Thank you so much for your time and effort to leave the constructive criticism.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information come from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"If the only tool you have is a hammer,  
You tend to see every problem as a nail."  
—Abraham Maslow

On any other day, Arthur would sit next to Francis in the teachers' lounge during lunch, eating cheap takeout or microwaveable lunches, and arguing with him over the art and music curriculum. But on one particular day, when Arthur was finished with kicking Francis in the knees over the upcoming spring concert and art show, Arthur gathered up his disgustingly wet microwaved pasta, excused himself, and made his way to the principal's office. A student exited the office at that moment, and Arthur congratulated himself for his wonderful timing as he peered into the office, seeing Romulus Vargas leaning back against his chair while eating some gourmet spaghetti that he made in a humble Tupperware.

Almost ashamed of his own pasta that paled in comparison, Arthur covered his meal with his hand. "Vargas? May I speak with you?"

"'Course! 'Course!" Romulus replied, his right cheek puffed out as he hid the chewed up parts of his pasta. With one beefy, hairy hand, he gestured to the seat in front of him, where the student had been sitting before. Arthur took the seat, shifting uncomfortably in the plastic chair. "So what're you here for?"

"I just want to ask a small question." Quickly, Arthur finished the last few bites before tossing the plastic plate into a trash bin off to the side. "Why did you hire Bonnefoy?"

"Why?" Romulus laughed. His shoulders bounced and his chest shook. "Because he has talent and he fosters inspiration within the student body and—"

"No. I want the real reason."

Romulus stopped, and the large smile on his face dissolved within moments. "What do you mean? I'm giving you the real reason. He's—"

"No. Can't you see that he's suffering? He can't _do_ as much as a normal art teacher would. He just can't _see_ all the drawings—can't see his own, can't see his students', can't see the famed artists'."

"Are you saying that he's unfit for his job because of his blindness, Kirkland?"

"Yes, I am."

Romulus shot up from his seat. His eyes stormed with a contained anger. "Kirkland! That's blatant disrespect!"

"No, it's not. He's more than capable. He has the talent. He can draw extraordinary things, despite his blindness. And he is admired and respected by his students. I personally can't even accomplish a fraction of that." Arthur sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "But you don't see what I see, because you're not working directly with him, like I am."

"Then?" Romulus raised one eyebrow. "Explain."

"His blindness is frustrating him. There is a limit—a wall—that he keeps bashing his head against. All he can teach is sketching, because he can feel the graphite on paper. But he can't teach watercolour or computer generated imaging, because he can't feel them. He would probably be much better with more tactile mediums, like pottery or something, but we don't have the funding for any of that. Just because blindness is an obstacle to overcome doesn't mean that he can still do the same things as before. His talents no longer lie with the visual arts."

Romulus let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders drooped, and he fell limp into his chair. "Can't believe it…"

Arthur shook his head. "Well, that's all I'm going to say. Good day, Mr. Vargas." With a final glance towards Romulus, who buried his face in one hand, he got up, and moved to the door.

"Do you know why I hired Francis?"

Arthur stopped.

"I hired him because he's my nephew. One of my beloved nephews."

Slowly, Arthur returned to his seat, listening to Romulus speak through his hand. Brown eyes stared out of the window, watching the birds twitter on the branches of nearby trees.

"I remember when he was very young—he could barely speak coherently—and he would pick up the crayons and draw all over the place. Papers, tables, walls, and I even saw a picture of a butt on my brother's toilet seat." Romulus chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "He loved to draw so much… As he got older, he got a drawing teacher. And then, in middle school, he was already drawing these fabulous paintings in acrylic. I was… so proud of my little nephew. Even at that young of an age, he was such a good artist; he even got paid for commissions. I started funding for his lessons and materials, and I brought him all over the place so he can look at art museums. He looked so happy in the art museums. And soon enough, I realised that he only waited for my visits so he can go to those expensive and high end art exhibits he normally wouldn't get to go. He wanted to be an artist so badly—it didn't matter which medium he would go in—painting, sketching, photography, sculpting, pottery, graphic design—it all didn't matter. He even promised me that he was going to be rich and famous one day, like Da Vinci, so then he can pay back all the money I ended up spending on him. But I didn't care. I even helped fund his expensive art school education. But then… But then I ended up taking his dreams away."

Romulus' voice began to crack, but Arthur didn't say a word to disturb him.

"I was helping him move into the dormitories. We packed everything up, and I decided that I was going to drive, while he sat in shotgun. The school was a way's away, and I wasn't paying attention, and I was tailgating some poor guy in front of me, and he began to slow down, but I didn't slow down with him, and we collided. Francis got terrible whiplash, and the windshield shattered. Some of the glass went into his eyes and the items in the back seat had given him blunt force trauma, completely messing up the brain's mechanism for sight. The doctors said that it was impossible for Francis to see again. They even said it was lucky that we didn't need to pay more to replace his eyes with glass ones…"

The insides of Arthur's chest clenched, and he slowly got up. Romulus didn't notice, and he continued with his story in a small whisper.

"After that, he dropped out of art school. He got an education degree instead, and told me that if he couldn't be a famous artist, then he could teach students to be famous artists instead…"

Arthur didn't say a word as he left the office, letting Romulus mutter to himself through bottled tears. The last thing he heard as he closed the door behind him was, "I took away his dreams… His beautiful dreams… And his future along with it."


	18. Chapter 18

**Special thanks to Yuu Kirkland for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU and the setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"The only time you should look in your neighbour's bowl is to make sure that they have enough.  
You don't look in your neighbour's bowl to see if you have as much as them."  
—Louis C.K

The spring concert was held only a month later. Arthur had been in panic mode, racing around with planning. After the Christmas concert, he was terrified of making the same mistakes. He worked his students harder, but not harsher. Some other people helped him with some behind the scenes action, and even Francis was a part of it, namely in choosing theme, pieces, and general suggestions on how to improve the mistakes Arthur had noted during rehearsals.

The spring concert ended up much better than the Christmas concert. The pieces were played consistently, and the students weren't frustrated with the mistakes. Of course, there were a few mistakes scattered about, but they were barely a pimple in the overall picture. After all, he was directing a school band, which was only meant to be a learning experience for the teenage musicians, and not a professional, paid band. But his own satisfaction paled in comparison when Francis approached him, after helping move all the large percussion instruments back into the band room, to congratulate him. As all the students were filing out to either go to sleep or finish up their procrastinated homework, Francis repeated a whole onslaught of little compliments he had heard from other audience members. Then, when everyone was gone except the two of them locking up the school for the janitors, Francis invited Arthur to a nearby pub to celebrate.

As they talked over glasses of differing alcohol (Francis preferred the overpriced wine, while Arthur got a nice glass of whisky), Francis asked, "So what made you go into music?"

"Huh…? What do you mean?" Arthur's words slurred together, but at least he wasn't intoxicated enough to do anything stupid, or cease to think.

"Why did you decide to be a music teacher?"

"Huh." Arthur set his chin against the cold surface of the counter, scratching his cheek as he thought. "I guess it was during high school… I began to really look up music and stuff. I watched all these music videos in my free time, and I would listen to music whenever I get the chance… Doing homework, in the car, even when I was dozing off… Next thing I knew, I was in the school's band, and the music teacher persuaded me to take music theory… And I loved it all, so I guess that's why." Arthur turned his head slightly. Hazy, green eyes peered up at Francis. "I really wanted to be a composer, so I became a teacher to fund myself."

Francis grinned, swirling the wine in his glass. "I'd fund you too. You compose such beautiful music."

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Hah. You wouldn't know beautiful music from cacophony."

"Hey!" One of Francis' hands rested against his heart, and he feigned a hurt expression. "I chose this concert's music! The students loved it! I have to have credit for some musical expertise!"

"Hah! Those students listen to pop trash all day. They're hardly anything to be judged against. They're too young to understand the sheer beauty of _real_ music!"

Their conversation went on like that for the rest of the night. They didn't drink their night away; instead, they talked and talked and talked—about life around school, life before school, life as a teenager, life watching other people living their lives, and life in general. But Arthur slowly realised something very strange as the hours passed through their words. He noticed it when Francis talked about all the art museums and art exhibits he had went to.

"I think I go to more art museums than I used to when I was little," Francis said with a chuckle. His cheeks were flushed red, and his normally sharp blue eyes glazed over only slightly. "Maybe it's because I'm more independent now, and I understand the actual art behind each masterpiece, but I always thought it strange, because the longer I stayed, the more jealous I would get."

He sighed through his nose.

"I would stay there, and think, 'Their pieces are so beautiful. I wish I can do something like that someday.' And I would stand there and stand there because I'm so stuck on that one thing, trying to figure it out and getting so jealous, that I have other things to go to and I would forget to move on. I always need somebody to come with me, or else I would just be at that one spot forever."

Then he set his wine glass down. One of his fingers began to rub at a little spot on the table.

"But whenever I go, I end up getting scared. The people I take with me would always just glance at one painting, pass judgement, and then walk onto another one. It's hard to find something that they would stop at because they could pick everything apart in a moment, when I couldn't, so I would stand there while they are on a different picture. Then I would turn around, and find that nobody's there and that I've been left behind. And then I get scared, because I can't find them, that maybe, maybe, they had forgotten me. That… that maybe, they had left me behind. Without me."

Then Francis paused and drank the rest of his wine. Arthur continued to peer up at Francis, waiting for him to go on, but not quite listening to the words. He didn't know what was going on.

"… And I didn't even hear their footsteps as they left…"

But Arthur noticed one thing—one thing he didn't notice when he was sober. Francis sounded so sad.


	19. Chapter 19

**Special thanks to Yuu Kirkland for reviewing and IvoryCymbidium for subscribing! You guys are the reason why I keep writing and updating!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness, and all information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"For we walk by faith, not by sight."  
—Corinthians 5:7

Eventually, Francis and Arthur had enough of pubs and alcohol, and they left. But they were in a dangerous situation. Arthur was drunk, and Francis couldn't drive, even though he was much less intoxicated than Arthur. One unwilling to leave the other alone to defend for himself, they decided to stick together, and walk, to Francis' flat, which was only two blocks from the pub. Throughout the short journey of 10 minutes, Arthur was fighting against Francis, shouting to the sky about how stupid Francis' flat was going to be, and how stupid Francis was, and how stupid he was to be too drunk to drive home. He was still unwilling to leave Francis alone, however.

The short walk through cool, night air did Arthur some good though. Once they arrived to Francis' flat and Francis was feeling his way through his pockets for his keys, Arthur no longer shouted curses to his companion's very existence. The alcohol was slowly wearing off, and Arthur was returning back to his senses, even though his cheeks glowed bright red.

Francis found his keys and unlocked the door. As courtesy, he allowed Arthur to walk in first; however, Arthur just glared at Francis and shoved him into the room first. Arthur followed close behind Francis and groped through the darkness for the light switch.

The lights flickered on. Arthur gasped. The ceiling of the flat was the most beautiful ceiling he had seen in an apartment building or in any home in general. Heavenly scenes lined the ceiling with tape, each drawn individually in with marker or coloured pencils on laminated pages. Wherever he turned, he saw the sky filled with God, archangels, Jesus and disciples. The most famous scenes stuck out to him, and Arthur, even though he was unfamiliar with the Bible as a whole, was able to pick out passages he had heard from others. He had seen many of these sorts of images before, on the Internet, and he could recognise it like it was on his face. But something struck him as strange. Wherever he turned, he couldn't find the famed and iconic image of the creation of Adam.

Turning and tipping his head back, Arthur asked, "Where's Adam?"

"Oh, you're looking at my ceiling?"

"Yeah. It's beautiful."

"Do you know what it is?"

"The Sistine Chapel."

"Right." Francis tipped his head back, tapping his stick against the floor. "I love the Sistine Chapel."

"Did you draw everything yourself?"

"I did. A long, long time ago. During high school, two friends and I went on an international trip with my uncle to Rome. And every day, we went to the Sistine Chapel, and the three of us adored all of the drawings, and we vowed to recreate each drawing with our own style in order to tape to our ceiling." Francis straightened his head again, tilting from side to side to stretch the neck back out. "The other two finished, but I'm not."

"Oh…"

"But don't worry! I'm still trying to finish it up; I just need to draw the creation of Adam now. I was thrown back a few, but I can finish eventually. Just like Michelangelo, who went blind when he was painting the ceiling after paint dripped into his eyes."

"But…" Arthur hesitated, hating himself. A part of him wanted to tell Francis the truth; Michelangelo never went blind painting the Sistine Chapel. That was only a little fable people made up to show how much of genius he was. But he stopped himself, and said something else. "But you won't get to see the final product."

"I know. I can't even see the original anymore either." Francis started walking forward, his stick tapping against carpet. "But I dream that one morning, I will wake up, and when I open my eyes, the first thing I'll see would be the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, right over my bed."

He stopped, holding his cane with both hands. "One day, I did. I opened my eyes, and I saw the Sistine Chapel—my drawings of it. I climbed out of bed, and walked, and walked, and walked. All I could see was the ceiling. And as I walked, the ceiling rose, further and further away, but I could still see all the paintings as if they were at my nose." Again, Francis tilted his head back, facing the ceiling. "Then I stopped." A thin finger rose up to point at Francis' emulation of the temptation and expulsion of Adam and Eve. "And there, right there, I saw the creation of Adam. The last piece. My favourite piece. It looked just like how I remembered it, and it was still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. So then I lied down on the stone ground, my arms out, and stared up at that ceiling, right at that spot." Francis let his finger fall back to his side. "I could see it again, and I was in heaven. I closed my eyes… I was so happy."

Arthur gulped and closed his eyes.

"But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was darkness."


	20. Chapter 20

**Special thanks to I-heart-Sesshomaru13 for subscribing and favouriting!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy! We're finally on the last stretch!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Vision is the art of seeing things invisible."  
—Jonathan Swift

The art show was only two weeks after the spring concert. For days, Francis and Arthur had decorated the hallway between the art room and the gym, which was placed right at the entrance and dead centre of the school. Then the walls were lined with the drawings picked out of students' portfolios created throughout the school year.

A few students had decided to submit artwork they had made outside of school, and Francis enthusiastically collected them all and lined the extra space with them, even if they were pots or oil painting, and they stuck out when compared to the many graphite, monochrome sketches that the rest of the students drew.

A particular watercolour painting stuck out the most with its faded out splash of pastel colours. The painting was easily the centre piece, and Francis put it in the centre of the exhibit, as per Arthur's suggestion. Students of varying aesthetic tastes flocked to see the picture, and the artist's name and praise were murmured throughout the school body. It seemed like everybody wanted to see that great masterpiece, and while advertising for the art show, Arthur had included it as the flyer graphic.

Unfortunately, even with the great reception for that particular painting and its fame, not many people attended the art show. Only a select few parents of art enthusiasts decided to come after school to look at the rows and rows of sketches and the handful of miscellaneous paintings. Due to the scarce reception, Francis and Arthur agreed to put a second art show during school, and let the whole student body, rather than just those who were interested, look.

Although more people were around, the art show felt strange to Arthur. He watched students walk by sketches and paintings and give each work only a cursory glance before moving on. And batches of them were grouped up, discussing things other than the art show itself. All in all, it felt dull. Arthur was stuck only eyeing mischievous students out to vandalise others' hard work. But even those troublemakers eventually died down with the art show's rather limp atmosphere, and Arthur was stuck simply standing around and wondering where Francis was.

The final bell eventually rang, signalling the end of the school day, and people were filing out. That was when Arthur finally decided to get out of his little spot at the edge of the hallway to look for Francis. He passed by many students, and he could hear the quiet, or the not-so-quiet whispering flittering in the air.

"I wish Mr Bonnefoy let us do other stuff."

"Yeah… Sketching is so dull, and it's not even interesting to look at."

"The lessons stink too; I didn't even improve, even though my grades went up."

"Nobody has."

"The drawings in general are worse than last year's, and I thought those were pretty bad too."

"None of the drawings made sense."

"I only liked the pots people made. Those were cool."

"Well, only if Mr Bonnefoy taught us something _other than_ just pencil sketches."

Arthur found Francis by the centrepiece. Francis was simply standing there, facing the painting. He didn't move at all, even when flocks of students were jostling around him to get out. For a split moment, Arthur wondered if he had heard all those comments floating about.

Taking a spot next to Francis, Arthur tapped Francis' hand and asked, "Hey, are you all right?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you are just… standing here. For a moment, I had thought a student had carved a statue of you and put it here." Arthur chuckled.

Francis didn't laugh along. His expression remained flat behind the pair of sunglasses. "I was just appreciating this work."

"I see…" Arthur nodded and looked at the painting.

"She must have put a lot of work and time into this."

"She did."

"It's so beautiful…"

"It is."

There was a pause. Arthur waited for Francis to say something else, but he didn't. With a sigh, Arthur tapped Francis' hand again. "Well, I think we better start cleaning things up."

"All right."

But Francis didn't move. Neither did Arthur. Silence reigned over the hallway as the last of the students had left. The whole area was still—no movement, no words, no sounds. It was just Arthur, Francis, and the colours. Eventually, Arthur turned his head to face the painting before him. It certainly was beautiful. He could look at it all day without registering what it was, and he wondered if this was what Francis was thinking about. He was looking, but not seeing; he could feel thoughts flutter around in the back of his head.

"Arthur?" Francis' voice shook. "Are you still here?"

"Yeah. Of course I am."

Francis fell silent again. Arthur, waiting for a response, looked over at Francis again. But no words came. Then Arthur looked back at the painting again. A hand reached out and grabbed Francis' shaking one. Tugging on Francis' hand, Arthur said, "Let's go."

For a moment, Arthur wondered if Francis had noticed the tears hiding behind the sunglasses.

"All right." Finally, Francis took a step away from the painting.


	21. Chapter 21

**Special thanks to Yuu Kirkland for reviewing, and February The Seventh for favouriting and subscribing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it,  
But that it is too low and we reach it."  
—Michelangelo

The rest of the year passed quickly. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks fell apart until graduation. Events were winding away as the school year disintegrated through time. Everything seemed to be running smoothly in Arthur's opinion. The students were mellowing out, only barely reaching the last stretch until break was upon them. The teachers were bumbling through the rest of classes or racing through material as the deadlines for the curriculums closed in.

And then graduation came. The seniors were leaving. They exchanged tearful farewells. And teachers who were close to their students hugged the young adults, telling them to dream, inspire, and work hard.

Arthur wasn't particularly attached to his students. After all, he had an air of professionalism encasing him, and he didn't bother to get to close to his students, knowing that they were going to leave in only four years' time. So he knew he was going to stand around on the edge of the school, watching people congratulate and take photos of their beloved senior class. But strangely enough, Francis was standing on the side lines as well, his expression unreadable past his large sunglasses.

"The year's finally over," Arthur said, sidling to Francis' side. "It went pretty fast."

"It's always like that." Francis smiled. "I'm going to miss these guys. Life isn't the same without them."

"Sentimental, aren't we?"

"Yeah… Just imagine, you'll never see them again, once they leave after the graduation ceremony."

"I guess you can say that. But some of them will come back to visit."

"But I won't ever _see_ them."

Arthur paused for a moment, tilting his head and furrowing his brow. The statement confused him. Was he supposed to take that literally? In the end, however, he brushed Francis off and shrugged. "Well, if you're not going to see them again, then why not say goodbye now? Before the ceremony?"

"I…" Francis shook his head. "I really don't know. It just doesn't feel right. I was such a short presence in their lives. It wouldn't be right to act like I knew them for the full four years."

"I… I see."

"Hey, why don't you talk to them, then? You've been here longer than I have."

Arthur shrugged only one shoulder. His hands clasped in front of him. "But like you, not the full four years. They had another teacher during their first year."

"Oh."

For a moment, no words were exchanged. The various conversations going on filtered into their minds, and Arthur could pick up the strangely awkward words that rising college students typically gave. Then, feeling like he was eavesdropping, Arthur asked, "Hey, to whom did you award the final art award?"

"Oh, the one with the bowl?"

"There's only one."

"Yeah, I'm giving it to Matthias."

Arthur sputtered, as if a bug flew into his mouth. "_What_? Matthias? I thought you were going to give it to Xiao Mei or something."

Francis chuckled and shook his head. "No, although she also would deserve the award."

"But Matthias drew _pornography_! Heterosexual, homosexual, polyamorous—everything! All day, every day!"

"Oh, so that was what he was drawing all this time?"

"Yes! That's why he wasn't in the art show! In fact, he wasn't in any of the shows! His work wasn't appropriate to be viewed!"

A grin cracked over Francis' face. "Pornography, huh. No wonder he worked so hard, even though he knew he would never be seen."


	22. Chapter 22

**Special thanks to ClassyAnimeNerd and Yuu Kirkland for reviewing; Dragonee and Iluna Sorgina Talis for favouriting and subscribing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness, and all information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Nihilism

"Come, come, my conservative friend, wipe the dew off your spectacles, and see that the world is moving."  
―Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Arthur had renewed his teaching contract the day Romulus had contacted him after the spring concert. It was an automatic instinct, since he would always continue teaching in the World Academy. Typically, that was an instinct many other teachers followed, and rarely would they refuse to sign the contract when it was offered to them. That was why when Arthur was planning out the next year, he had factored in Francis as well. He didn't want to be thrown another curve-ball like he had that year, especially since it was strangely messy. And this time, he was going to take Francis' blindness into account and use it to their advantage. Arthur's heart pounded; he knew that the upcoming year was going to be the most successful he was going to go through.

When he tried to email Francis to discuss the plans, however, the email bounced. Believing it was a slight typo on his part, he sent the message again. And then again. And then again. And then again. But each time the email bounced back, and the server told him that the email address didn't exist. The next logical step was to contact Romulus, asking why he couldn't seem to get in contact with Francis.

Romulus' answer was almost immediate. Francis' school email had been terminated. Francis declined the contract renewal. He didn't plan to come back to World Academy, or its fine arts department. He wasn't going to work with Arthur anymore.

Arthur froze, his eyes widening. Slowly, he looked at all his notes. He had spent so long thinking about how they could change the curriculum to their advantage, but Francis never told him that he wasn't going to stay by his side. Francis gave up, and Arthur didn't even notice. He leaned back against his chair, staring at the email message. What was he going to do? He would have to revert back to the same habits of when he worked all alone. He could finally go back to the tried and true methods he knew and loved. He didn't need to deal with Francis' strange habits.

For a few moments, Arthur wondered whether he should have been happy or not. He had hated Francis; the man was more trouble than what Arthur had thought worth. His heart jumped to his throat, and then plummeted deep into his bowels. Francis had everything, except his eyes. Then Arthur wondered what he himself would lose.

He shot up and went straight back to the computer. His elbows brushed the papers off his desk, and they fluttered to the ground. He hated himself for not knowing how to contact Francis personally, especially after often they were stuck together. The connection was only in the school building and through the school email. If he had been smarter, he would have at least gotten Francis' phone number. But no, he chose not to.

But he remembered that he had gone to Francis' flat before. Maybe, if he retraced his step after the night of the pub, he could go meet with Francis again.

The next step was to check if his budget had enough room for two plane tickets to the Vatican City.


	23. Chapter 23

**Special thanks to Yuu Kirkland and LordOfTheOverworld-LupitisCole for reviewing; Mistyrious, LillyDew, and bittersweet123 for favouriting; and Mistyrious, Hysteria82, LillyDew, and bittersweet123 for subscribing! You guys are why I continue to write and update!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information comes from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Well, we're finally closing into the last of this story! Enjoy the last stretch before the finale!**

* * *

Nihilism

"To be blind is not miserable;  
Not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable."  
—John Milton

At first, Arthur thought of taking his car, but in the end, he prompted against it, especially since he didn't know where he would be able to park. So he ran to Francis' flat, a few papers stuck deep into his pocket. Then he went up a few floors and knocked on a familiar door.

"Bonnefoy? This is Arthur," Arthur called, trying to catch his breath and straightening himself out. He had gotten sweaty after the short run through town, but at least he wasn't uncomfortably so.

There was a moment of silence. Then the sound of rustling and tapping followed, and Francis called back, "One moment please!" Eventually, the door opened, revealing a strangely dishevelled Francis, a table with a laptop reciting job openings in retail, and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off, ripping out the papers in his pockets and shoving them into Francis' face.

"You're coming to the Vatican City with me."

Francis sputtered. Even though he couldn't see the papers, he could feel the edges against his nose, and he pulled his head back. "The… Vatican City?"

"Yeah. The place where the Pope lives. It's right next to Rome."

"I know. But… why?"

"The Sistine Chapel is there!"

"I… know. But…"

"Do I have to spell everything out?" Arthur rolled his eyes and unfolded the papers. "You'll finally get to see the Sistine Chapel again. And you can look up, and see that everything's there."

Francis sighed, leaning against one leg and the doorframe. "But you know I can't see _anything_."

"Physically, you can't. But it won't be a waste of time."

Francis paused. "But I can't afford the trip."

"It's on me. I've been saving all my money for something like this. But if you want, you can always give me back the money again." Arthur smiled. "Once we get back from summer vacation."

Francis smiled back, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest. "All right. Sounds good to me. When would we leave?"

"Next week. After we find you a contract to sign."


	24. Chapter 24

**Hoozah! It's the last chapter of the fic. It's been fun; I hope you all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought about this little adventure with Arthur and Francis.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Axis Powers: Hetalia._ It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.**

**Enjoy this last chapter!**

* * *

Nihilism

"At the moment of vision, the eyes see nothing."  
―William Golding, _The Spire_

Arthur brought Francis to the Sistine Chapel, just like he had promised. They got access to the museum and went through security, but Francis refused handicapped assistance and Arthur promised to take care of him so the security guard wouldn't have to worry. Francis scoffed at the notion, but he brushed it off. Then they entered the Chapel.

The walls towered high above them, and the roof rose into the heavens, as if it was emulating the sky but protecting the people inside from the ever-changing weather. When the two stepped inside, their heads tilted back. Arthur's gaze followed the beautiful moral on the walls, over the arches, and towards the ceiling. His breath was taken away. Images and scenes decorated every area of the chapel. He was surrounded by masterpieces, multiple depictions all joining together but were still completely separate from each other. He wanted to look at the murals and paintings more closely so he could see the techniques and renovations the chapel had gone through. He had seen the paintings before through art books and images on the Internet, but he had never seen the chapel up close, where the walls were palpable, but where his fingers couldn't touch. With a faltering breath, he took a step forward.

"Arthur? Where are you?"

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Francis. "I'm still right here, Bonnefoy."

Francis sighed, smiling and letting his shoulders relax. "Oh, good. I had thought you were already on the other side or something."

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What? You thought that I teleported away? I can only wish. I'd hate to stay with you longer than I already need to."

"Well, who knows?" Francis laughed. "I didn't hear you walk away."

"That's because I didn't. Now, hand over your stick."

"It's a cane. Not a stick. Or a pole."

"Fine. You get what I mean. Now hand it over."

"But… Why?" Francis held out his cane. Arthur took it by where Francis' hand was, so Francis knew when to let go. "You know that that's really important, right?"

"I know, I know. I won't lose it. I promise." Then Arthur grabbed hold of Francis' hand before it fell back to his side. "You'll be fine. Trust me." Arthur began to walk forward.

Francis followed. His grip tightened. And suddenly, Arthur couldn't see the murals anymore. They all disintegrated within the walls, blurring into a beige colour of the architecture. There were no pictures of angels or God, and there certainly was no creation of Adam. All Arthur could see were walls, ceilings, and people who walked by, glancing at the two and muttering words he couldn't hear. Then they, too, disintegrated into nothing, and all he was left with were his breathing, the white cane, Francis' hand, and sounds of his and Francis' footsteps clicking against the hard floor, never quite synchronising but still accompanying each other. His step followed Francis', and Francis' followed his, each filling the gap in between the silence. They walked aimlessly, never quite leaving the Sistine Chapel but not quite looking at anything at all.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Francis murmured, his voice and hand trembling.

"It is. Just like Heaven."


End file.
